


The Creature

by ladyaconite



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Introspection, Reflection, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9290777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyaconite/pseuds/ladyaconite
Summary: Before Victor made Lily, Caliban met and fell in love with a young girl named Rose. Their relationship was brief and ill-fated, but perhaps someday they can be together.





	1. January 1892

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have messed around a bit with the timeline and events of the whole show and will include notes about what I have altered.  
> This bit takes place months after Caliban first demanded that Victor create a companion for him, but before the last episode of season 1.  
> The story isn't told in chronological order, so the chapter names (dates) are important for keeping track of the plot line.   
> Hope you enjoy and please comment below!

The creature sat across from his master. He looked into the young man’s pale, gaunt face. This man, his father, pretended to know so much, but really knew so little of life and suffering. Victor was reluctant to make him a bride. Dr. Frankenstein was afraid Caliban and his monster bride would somehow create a colony of monster children or that he would fashion another abomination. Victor added that he wasn’t sure he could make another for fear of its suffering or who knew of the suffering it could cause others.

“Suffering? What do you know of suffering?” Caliban asked his master bitterly.

“I know to you my life seems unharmed and provincial, but it has not been easy. I have-“

“Watched your mother die of consumption.” Victor opened his mouth in shock. “I went to the village you grew up in and found out about you. Yes, you have suffered, but you have also caused others to suffer.”

“And you haven’t?” he bit back. The doctor’s voice almost sounded as if he would cry.

The creature looked away at a table very like the one he was born on and his mind filled with his birth. He shut his eyes and breathed in. His gaze fixed upon the doctor. 

“I have caused suffering as have you. But I wonder if you remember the first time you realized you could do so? The first time you realized you held the power to bend someone to your will?” he inquired gravely. Victor looked at him miserably, like a pained animal. His father’s look disgusted him so he turned away and thought upon the memory. 

“You remember me telling you months ago how I became part of an acting troupe? They let me join their funny company. Well, when the show went touring across England, I followed them. I was still ashamed of my appearance and hid in the shadows. More importantly, I hadn’t learned how to be vicious myself. One night, a few of the village men and untrusting members of the acting troupe, took it upon themselves to rid the town of me. They chased me and when they eventually caught up with me in the woods outside the village, they stoned and kicked and swore at me. They left me to die.” He paused unsure if he could go on. “I knew I could not, but I was ready to die. Happy to die and I cleared my mind as if I could. But I didn’t. Instead, a few hours later I awoke to singing. I thought I was in heaven. Imagine a creature like me, going to heaven.” Victor winced. “The singing stopped and I jerked up to see where it had gone to. But a sudden pain filled my body. And then there was someone beside me trying to soothe me. I tried getting away thinking I was restrained like an animal, but then I heard her voice.”


	2. October 1891

"And that she nurs'd him in a Cave;  
And how his Madness went away"  
-Wordsworth  
_________________  
“You should stop moving. You must stop, please” the young woman pleaded with worry, trying to prevent the scarred man from rolling over. The creature tried calming himself down, lying on his back again. His whole body ached dully and he could only groan. Then something was put to his lips. It was fruity tasting and cool. He had difficulty swallowing it even though she propped up his head. He felt that his tongue was swollen. He choked on it and coughed, but eventually finished the bottle. She left him and he lay there sighing, trying to get his bearings.

He opened his eyes and tried to look around him without turning his neck. He was in the dark forest with only a lantern providing light. Caliban could sense another’s being presence and heard a horse breathing loudly. He suddenly recollected what had happened. The betrayal of a member of his own company. The shame of it was horrible. And who was this person who had saved him? She didn’t sound old, but he was in a forest, so maybe it was as in the fairy books. Perhaps whoever saved him wished him ill harm or had bad intentions. His thoughts went to what one of the actors had said; “he should be sold to a side-show. We’d make a pretty penny off him.” He ached, but knew he wasn’t actually hurt and the pain would leave soon. He tensed his body preparing for a struggle.

The sound of footsteps returned. Caliban became nervous. He wanted to run away. He could feel beads of sweat running down his forehead and his breathing quickened. He didn’t know why, but opening his eyes would make it worse. It would bring in the reality.

“Shh, shhh. It’s just a cool washcloth. See?” Despite his struggles to see nothing of the kind, he felt its coolness on his brow as she dabbed it. It stopped and he felt her leave. Carefully, he opened his eyes and looked to his side. He couldn’t see her, but he heard her light foot steps approaching again. Again, he fastened his eyes shut. “You should try to stay still. You’ve been badly injured” she said concerned. “I’m going to put some salve on a cut you have. It might burn.”

As she rubbed something sticky into a cut on his hand, the creature thought about the sound of her voice and way in which she conducted his treatments. She wasn’t treating his hand like a piece of meat. She didn’t even seem to begrudge the task. And there was something foreign in her accent. He hadn’t realized it before. He had been too busy fighting against her. 

Furthermore, her tone was kindly. She wasn’t scolding him or patronizing him. Perhaps he was in heaven. Perhaps she was an angel. But could a creature such as him die? And if he could, would he have been blessed enough to enter paradise?

Her hands moved up his arm to continue administering the salve. Caliban let himself open his eyes a slit and gazed at her. She was seated so that he could view her profile and he almost gasped when he saw her. She was beautiful. He suddenly felt self-conscious. What must she think of his monstrous body? He thought of the scars on his face and around his neck. She must’ve been horrified. Perhaps she thought they were recent injuries. Perhaps she was thought as Vincent did and attributed them to an industrial accent. Regardless of what she thought, the creature knew she had no way of knowing their or his true origin.

Caliban tried to speak but forgot about his tongue.The woman met his eyes. She jerked back and the horse wined. The creature tried to tell her not to be frightened, but it just sounded like groaning and moaning. He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t harm her, despite his strangely bloodshot and yellow eyes. 

She recovered herself however. “You must have bitten your tongue when you fell” she said with a faint trace of apprehension as she resumed her position closer to him. Her eyes kept looking into his eyes with uncertainty. Her hands were timid as she returned to dressing his wounds. “I hope you’re not too uncomfortable.” The nervousness in her voice was palpable.

“Perhaps she is regretting stopping to see to me. She should’ve left me alone is what she is surely thinking” Caliban regrettably thought.

But the woman continued. She talked in a apprehensive voice as she applied the salve onto the injuries and soon moved to the other side of him, but she did not look at his eyes again. With every sentence she uttered, the creature became more aware and ashamed of his terrifying visage. He began thinking of the name given to him: Caliban. What an apropos name for him. 

“I am indeed a monster who is a slave to my creator. Why could I not look more ethereal as Ariel? Why was I made to look as a demon would?” Caliban contemplated, tears forming in his eyes.

“I..I…should see to your tongue.” There was an awkwardness to her voice that Caliban found strangely endearing. “Do…do you understand English?” There was such worry in her voice that the creature found it impossible to not comply with her wish. He slowly turned his head, keeping his eyes downcast and opened his mouth. “Can you stick your tongue out?” He could hear the relief and joy in her voice. He did so awkwardly and was surprised to find her gently holding his chin. She moved the lantern around to look at it. “I think it should be alright in a few days time.” Caliban knew it would be better by tonight.

The girl looked nervous as her eyes gazed into the dark.

Caliban could feel the place where his tongue was cut and carefully formed his words, “You can leave now. You have been very kind.” He tried to gaze down to hide his eyes and scar.

When she looked into his eyes, he saw the hesitation, but she shook her head. “There is a cave over there. Do you think you could walk or ride a horse?” Caliban pushed himself up. The girl stepped back from his towering frame, astonished. “Are you sure you can walk?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll find it by myself.” He began walking forward to where she had been looking, but noticed that she followed a few paces behind him holding up the lantern. His body felt no pain now. It was only at first after the initial shock of waking up. Caliban kept his face to the shadows. When he reached the place, he muttered, “I have found it, you may go.” It was as when Maud had brought her blood pump hose to him. Interactions, particularly with women, still came so awkwardly to him.

“I have blankets and things to make your sleep more comfortable.” He saw her face in the light. She was young certainly; at that awkward stage between childhood and adulthood. Her face was kind and Caliban could not help but see the good intentions written on it. Clearly visible too was the amount of bravery she was putting forward being here with him.

“Thank you” was all he could muster without tears coming to his eyes.

She followed him into the cave, leaving the horse near the opening. With care, she placed the lantern on top of a rock and retrieved the blankets she spoke of. She began arranging them on the floor and Caliban clumsily tried to assist her being careful not to touch her. She then lit the hearth that was already in the cave.

“Here” she said handing him the jug of the drink. “Do you need anything else.”

“No,” Caliban replied astonished. “No,you’ve been very kind.”

“I will come back tomorrow. Good night.” She left the cave and he heard her and her horse walking away. 

“Is she an angel? Or a woodnypmh? Or perhaps a kind witch?” he asked aloud to the empty cave. The creature barely had any clue. His gaze fell upon the surprisingly inviting makeshift bed. He laid down though did not feel so physically tired, for he never did, but he needed respite from thinking of the events of the night. 

Early in the morning, Caliban awoke to the morning calls of birds and to bits of sunlight streaming into the cave. He pushed down the covers to look at his cuts from last night. They were nearly gone. 

“My ability to heal quickly is part of what makes me this pitiable creature,” he thought. He moved his tongue around his mouth, but he dared not speak and ruin the perfect serenity of the forest. His tongue did not feel painful or swollen anymore, but it was like sandpaper. He looked around for the jug of sweet liquid. It was a few feet away and he managed to gulp the rest of it down before letting his eyes wander the whole extent of the cave. 

The cave wasn’t deep at all. The end of it was only a few feet from where his head rested on the bed and its opening a few yards away from where his feet lay. Caliban liked its coziness, however. There was room enough for a small hearth and 2 beds. Its height was impressive as well since it was more than a few feet taller than him, meaning he didn’t have to hobble or crouch to move. 

Words from Shelley, Wordsworth, Keats, and Byron swirled around his mind. As he stood at the awning of the cave, he whispered quietly,  
“Swift as a spirit hastening to his task  
Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth  
Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask  
Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth.”

“What time will she come to see me?” Caliban wondered. It had been many months since he was in a place such as this that didn’t seem touched by the turbines and steel of the modern age. He didn’t want to leave the cave, however, and have her think he had simply vacated, though perhaps that was the better decision. Caliban thought back on her appearance and could feel himself beginning to become mesmerized with her. The creature tried to imagine what he could say to such a pretty girl. For she was a girl wasn’t she? It was so difficult to say how old mortals were. “Fifteen or sixteen,” Caliban estimated. “Is she not of the heavens? For surely she has to be to not have run when seeing my scars or looking into my eyes alone at night.”

Keeping his eyes and ears open, the creature ventured out of the cave and into the forest. He saw the tracks he had made last night and saw where they led to. A few drops of blood could be seen on the ground; the blood was now mixed with morning dew. Caliban continued his walk through the forest seeing tracks where animals had moved the night previously, all the while keeping a weather eye out for signs of her. He heard the distinct sounds of a horse’s hooves on the ground and headed back to the cave as quietly as he could. 

From the trail up ahead, he saw her coming, leading the horse. He narrowed his eyes to get a better look at her. She was gently carrying the horse’s reins, quite candidly talking to it. The night before she had not smiled. Perhaps she had been too scared or tired. Caliban stole back to the cave to wait for her.  
After much time fretting about what he should be about when she came, he finally decided upon working on folding the blankets she had so generously brought to him. He heard the horse hooves get closer and her voice quieted. He still could not think of what to say and when she came in the cave he startled her by abruptly saying

“Good morning, ma’am.”

She jumped, putting her hand to her heart. “You are already feeling better!” she exclaimed.

Caliban tried to say something but turned his head away. “Thank you, ma’am..you’ve been very kind.” He wanted to shrink into himself. 

“It’s what anyone would have done”

He almost refuted this, but refrained. He examined her as she set about starting a fire to make tea. Yes, she was young, but she was not a girl. She was a young woman, even if she hid this under her simple, homespun clothes. She glanced back at him as if she knew how his eyes had searched her. He turned his head away. She walked over to him a few paces. 

“May I look at your wounds?”

Caliban became rigid. “There’s no need to.” He didn’t want her to see his horrors so intimately in daylight. He saw she was taken aback and a little dismayed. “You don’t need to trouble yourself, please” Caliban continued more diplomatically. She nodded a little lackluster and sat near the fire. 

What to say? What to say? “Thank you” he stammered out. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you. Perhaps, I could…” he reached at the air for something.

“Do you like toast?” He saw her retrieving bread from her bag. 

“Yes.”

“Would you sit and share some with me?” Caliban nodded and sat on a log near the fire.

She handed him a slice of fluffy white bread and a stick to toast it with. Out of the corner of his eye, Caliban watched her as she carefully hovered the bread over and near the fire. He soon followed suit and they each enjoyed their toasted bits of bread. 

“Aie!” she exclaimed and brought a finger to her mouth, taking a sharp breath. Caliban looked at her curiously. “I burnt my finger on the stick” she tried laughing. 

He looked to her hands. They were extremely clean, no dirt hiding in the cracks of fingernails or knuckles, but they were seemingly dusted on both sides with a light white, flakey powder, while the knuckles were beaming red and one or two had small abrasions on them. Her palms had small cracks on them and a few of her fingertips looked like they might be slightly callused. If it weren’t for these, her hands would be beautiful. Long fingers on a long square palm. Despite her almost elegant fingers, her hands looked as if they were strong. They weren’t meaty, but the creature guessed that they were not dainty and weak like Maud’s.

“Yes?” she asked concerned for she’d caught him staring at them.

“I’m sorry…I was looking at your hands.” He wanted to outstretch his hand and take one to examine it, but contained himself more. 

“Oh” she looked down at them and wrung them together. An expression of embarrassment swept across her face. It was not Caliban’s intent to do such and he tried to remedy it.

“No, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean like that. I was worried they pained you or perhaps you had been injured recently” he rattled off, hoping ease the girl’s needless contrition. 

“I take in laundry and baking for some people in the town” she was still staring down at her hands, examining them herself now. “I have some oil at home, but only enough for once a week.” If Caliban could, he would’ve enveloped her hands and kissed them telling her she had nothing to distress over.

Suddenly, the water pot over the fire began to boil. She stood up to get it, but Caliban insisted. She brought out a sturdy, metal tea pot and he poured the water over the leaves. 

Caliban tried not to watch her as she set about getting the cups. He had not meant to make her ill at ease. She offered him a cup and he took it graciously.  
After a few sips, Caliban could swear he could hear someone calling his name. He stood up and put his finger to his lips, barely looking at the girl. He slowly went to the opening of the cave and peered out looking for the producer of the noise. From far away, he could hear a man’s voice.

“Ouch, damn. My God how can anywhere live in places like this? Where is he? I hope he hasn’t run away.” It took Caliban a moment to realize whose voice it was: Vincent. Caliban saw the girl was standing next to him, perhaps scared it was the ruffians returned. “Caliban?” Vincent yelled louder. 

“Here, Vincent!” he returned, walking toward where the voice was coming from. He found Vincent who was overjoyed at finding him.

“Oh my dear sweet boy! There you are! I would’ve gone searching for you last night, but I only just found out. That scoundrel of a man. He has been fired, you’ll be glad to know. We do not keep men like him in our company. But you are alright, yes?”

“Yes, Vincent. Thank you.”

“From the way I heard it described they nearly killed you, but here you are standing in front of me with only a few cuts and bruises.” Caliban could see Vincent looking over him. 

“I cannot believe we have a month more of these damn tours. It’s difficult enough to put on a show in one’s house, needless to say it’s nearly impossible when traveling. It is my sincere wish that our theatre is rehabilitated before-“ Vincent cut himself off and looked curiously past Caliban.

Caliban turned around and saw the girl standing some feet behind him unsure if she should tarry any longer. 

“Vincent this is…” Caliban realized he had never asked her name. How rude that was. “She came to my rescue last night.” The creature nodded to her hoping to signal her to move forwards. She did so, though there was still hesitation. Vincent met her and extended his hand.

“What a noble woman you must be indeed. Enchante, mademoiselle. I am Vincent, a theatric with the Grand Guignol, and happy employer of our friend here.” Caliban always enjoyed the idiosyncratic and exaggerated tone of Vincent’s speech; it made him smile and he found himself doing just that as he watched the two. He could tell the girl was warmed by Vincent’s exuberance

“And what pray tell if your name?”

“Rose” she smiled smiling.

“Rose. How enchanting. You know - ahh-“ Vincent exclaimed. His pants had cut on some brambles. “How anyone lives outside of London, I’ll never know.”

“Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea?” she asked Vincent very kindly.

“Yes, please. I can’t think of anything I’d like more.” Rose led the way back to the cave.

“Vincent, I’ll be straight back to work tonight” he attempted to assure his employer.

“Well, pet, that’s what I need to talk to you about. We can do so over tea.”

“I’m not fired, am I?” Caliban asked alarmed. “Vincent, I know that last night-“

“No, no, my dear boy. I just need to settle something with you. By no means are you fired. You are one of the best stage rats I’ve ever seen. Perhaps the best.”

Clearly, a cave was not what Vincent had in mind, but her accepted the circumstance.

“As you know, my dear,” Vincent began once situated on an uncomfortable rock. “We have three more weeks of this wretched touring business before the theatre will be once again readied to entertain the throngs. And unfortunately we have signed a contract with that Mr. Benkin for the use of those carts and horses. After those terrible men finished with you here, they came back to town and drank more then incited a sort of riot. They upset a great number of carts and even one of the horses. Mr. Benkin saw it and has insisted we take more…precautions.” Vincent’s face conveyed that whatever he was about to say, he didn’t like it. “It pains me to say this, but he was insistent that not only should that scoundrel be let go, but you should too.”

“But Vincent, I would never do anything to injure the company!” Caliban began in earnest.

“Shh, shh, I know my boy.” Vincent laid a hand on his. “Mr. Benkin though is looking out for his property. However, Mr. Benkin has no authority over us once we have relinquished our business with him in London. Thus, you can happily rejoin us there.”

Caliban was decimated. “This is no reflection on your character, son. It reflects poorly on me, I know. I am master of our troop and unable to keep its members safe, but this the reduced position I have come to.”

“No, Vincent, please do not take it upon yourself” Caliban sad lamentably. “But how will you do the shows? Who will work the blood pumps and things?”

“A most unhappy lot to have three jobs” Vincent smiled. Vincent would not hear anymore apologies and he began concerning himself with how Caliban would return to London and what he would do in the interim. The creature begged his employer not to worry, for he had been in worse situations than this. Vincent relented and then turned his eyes to the young woman who had been set about extinguishing the fire. 

“Now, why didn’t I see this pretty and sweet creature at the theatre last night? Surely fake blood is not enough to frighten you away.” Vincent smiled. Her eyes looked at them surprised they were speaking to her. “For performing such an honorable service in aid of this poor soul, I daresay you deserve a free ticket. How about it, hmm? We are performing Sweeney Todd tonight.” 

Caliban hoped the girl would accept the offer for he had nothing to give her and she should be commended somehow. 

“Thank you” she began quietly, looking trouble. “But I cannot accept.”

“Of course, you can the show begins at 7 tonight. Please do come.” 

“It’s very exciting” Caliban offered gently. “There’s only a little fake blood.”

She didn’t look at them. “My father wouldn’t like it. I’m very sorry.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry about my dear. It is for us to be sorry that we cannot entertain you.” Vincent turned to Caliban. “Your effects are still at the theatre.  
Can you walk with me to the town to collect them.”

“Yes, of course.” Caliban felt very sorry for the young girl. How she looked when she said her father would not like it was heartbreaking. “I will be back again” Caliban said to her. Perhaps she didn’t care if he’d be back, but he said it as not to be rude. She nodded and gave him a small smile.  
________________  
With books under his arms, Caliban returned to the cave. To his regret, the girl was gone. What did she say her name was? Rose, yes? Rose. It seemed fitting. 

“What shall I do now? I have nowhere to go to and no one to go to.” The depressing truth of the loneliness of his life settled on him. For three weeks he would need to occupy not only his time, but find somewhere to reside. “You could always go to him.” No, Caliban would not do such a thing. He was not as desperate as that to find shelter. Could he stay here? He was surrounded by the countryside; a thing he had always wished to see more of. This place was such a change from London with her constant clamors and cruelties. Of course, he could not be under the illusion that a village was a simpler and kinder place. He’d not only witnessed, but experienced its malice and contempt for oddness. And nature herself had its own ferocity.

If he hid here in the cave, he would be safe. He’d only need to go in search of food occasionally. There was no doubt in his mind he could kill a rabbit or other small wild creature. And there was apparently another town a small distance away that he could travel to, as well. 

Caliban wondered if he would come upon the girl if he stayed. Would she continue to look in on his progress? The thought of seeing her again warmed him. How had she been so brave as to approach him and try to care for him seeing his scars? Or his eyes? It would probably be best, he thought, if he did not come upon her again. He imagined how her family, simple, kind, and cautious to be sure, would react to his appearance. Perhaps they would be understanding as she was, but could he hope for that kind of luck?

Tired of thinking of hypotheticals, Caliban retrieved a book and laid upon the makeshift bed. 

The creature’s reverie was broken when he heard footsteps. His alertness returned. He thought of what he should say if it were her and what he should do if it weren’t. But it was her. She wasn’t looking up and he feared his voice would startle her.

She came into the cave and smiled at him cautiously. She’d brought some food and upon taking a seat near the fire she rekindled, requested his name.

“It is Caliban” he said keeping his face turned as he sat. He had tried to think of a different name, but was unable to. “You must think my name odd” he said uncomfortably.

“Why should I?”

He looked at her curiously, “Well The Tempest, of course.” The young woman looked uncomfortable herself now; “Almost ashamed” Caliban thought. “She doesn’t know what it is.”

“It’s a play” he began gently, “by William Shakespeare.” Unlike with his Wordsworth or Dante or Clare, Shakespeare was someone whose books, plays, sonnets he had supposed that almost everyone knew. After all, even with “the denigration of the theatre,” the Grand had put the Bard’s mystical play on. “It is about a king who controls an island and his daughter. Maybe you’ve seen it. There’s a spirit called Ariel, as well.” The creature gazed at her hopeful he had helped her remember it. But her face remained the same. How the creature then wished to be like Vincent and dismiss her self-concern with something witty. But words failed him. She went back to tending the fire.

Over the next few days, the girl became less frightened of his appearance, particularly his eyes. Caliban knew he was fully healed, but did not want to leave this place. What a change from London this was. He could hear birds sing and he had even espied a fox and badger during the night. It was as if living in a dream. And Rose. Rose was shy and beautiful, but loving. He could see that or she wouldn’t have bothered with the difficulty of getting him here.  
Rose’s commitment to ensuring his needs were met - him a stranger and a creature - astonished him. He felt very awkward around her, but he found it comforting to see in her eyes loneliness. The same kind of loneliness he knew. He watched her with amazement. “How can so lovely a girl with such a spirit, be lonely? It seems impossible to me.” 

Finally, though, on their fourth day together, her garnered his courage.

“Where are you from?” Caliban asked one evening. “Your accent, it’s not English.”

She smiled sheepishly. “My mother was from France. She raised me by herself while my father was on the road and she didn’t speak English good so we always spake French at home. She was a midwife. She teached me about wrapping bandages.”

Caliban smiled. He could see how much she loved her mother. How foreign, but inviting the idea was to him of loving someone and them loving you back.  
“She must worry about you terribly being out her late at night” he said with real concern. 

The smile that had played upon Rose’s face disappeared. “She died when I was 9.” 

He opened his mouth to say something for he felt so useless. “I’m sorry” he said frustrated with himself.

“Where are you from?”

The creature replied still wretched, “London.”

“What is it like there?”

Caliban looked up from his wretched state and saw she was staring at him with true curiosity,

“I have never been. Father says I should never go.” There was something terribly melancholic in her voice and face when she brought up her father Caliban noted. 

He breathed in sharply, “London is a place full of mysteries and wonders,” Caliban said thinking of the theatre. He could write poems about the wonderment and magic of that place. He saw the girl’s innocent and naive face and continued on soberly, “It is also marred with cruelty. It devours the naive and vulnerable and exalts the wicked and selfish.” The smile and curiosity had disappeared from her face. Caliban was glad to see it for London would gladly take her in its grasp to tare her limb from limb and mangle her mind until it finally contorted her soul. 

“That is what Father says of it, as well” she said looking into the fire.

“You must like it here though.” He then went about quoting a few lines of Wordsworth on the serenity of nature. “I think I would much prefer to live someplace like this than in London.”

“Moi aussi. I wouldn’t like to live in a city, but I should like to visit one once.” 

Caliban found himself mesmerized by her. She had such a gentle nature and pleasing appearance, yet she appeared to be friendless. “How can a soul so generous remain uncherished,” Caliban pondered.  
___________  
Over the next few days, Caliban came to understand that her father travelled during the autumn, spring, and summer, and returned home in the winter. After her mother died, she lived with an elderly relative of her father’s. When that caretaker passed on, Rose lived with a woman who taught her how to wash and sew clothes of all kinds. The young girl didn’t come to living by herself till last summer when she was knowledgeable enough to take in and do laundry herself.  
From Rose’s tone rather than her descriptions, Caliban learned of his rescuer’s father. He saw it in her downcast eyes or sullen face, heard it in her empty tone that Rose’s surviving parent was unkind. She said strict, but Caliban gathered it meant more than that. He was disgusted to think that any many could hurt her. How could any man hurt such a pure and beautiful creature? Caliban dearly wished he could protect her from him. 

"Of course, I should be going," Caliban thought. He had let her think his ankle still felt unwell and that he was suffering from fatigue, but it could not last forever. "For two weeks, I have tarried in this place and taken up much of her time. She said she would be late today for she was going to church." Caliban waited. He would tell her he would away soon. 

Outside the cave, there were the sounds of a horse’s hooves lightly trotting. Caliban stood from the hearth and brushed the dirt from himself. She called his name and he came outside to meet her. The sun was shining and it made her look very well. 

“Are you feeling good enough to come with me?” she asked timidly.

“Where to?” he asked befuddled.

“The cottage. I have food there…laid out…and since you are my friend I was thinking we could enjoy it together.”

Caliban smiled. How lovely that was. He had never been invited into anyone’s home. They walked side by side as Rose led the horse. When Caliban had approached the  
horse it had neighed worriedly, but Rose soon set it at ease and it had even allowed Caliban to pet it. The human creature saw how much love she had for this four-footed beast. Avril, French for April, was its name. 

The cottage was small and a bit run down on the outside with stones threatening to fall off and parts of the roof on the precipice of caving in. But it was charming in a way. The wooden stable for two horses was well kept. He gathered Rose must have cleaned it by herself and of course she would keep it warm and cozy for one of her few friends. 

Before opening the door, Caliban saw her hesitate. Rose looked at him worried for a moment. “Does she fear I would harm her?” he thought. The moment of mistrust hurt him, but with determined sense of purpose he said, “We are friends, are we not Rose?”

Her eyes widened a bit and the smile returned. She affirmed it by opening the door. 

The cottage had two floors and while it also was in need of repairs, it was evident Rose did her best to keep it clean. On the table, a wonderful spread of bread and jam and some fish were laid out. Caliban smiled at her. He sat down at her insistence but waited for her. Out of the corner of his eye he espied the book he had leant her. Wordsworth. He wondered if she had read the poems he had told her of; some of his favorite versus were contained in this volume. He stood and lovingly touched it.  
Caliban drew his gaze to Rose, who was finishing the preparations. Momentarily, the creature was taken aback. He rejoiced over the fact that she was turned from him and could not see his face. She was wearing a beautiful, white dress. It clearly was still a simple one, but it showed off her curves much better than the normal dresses she wore. He eyed her up and down for a few seconds before realizing how his breathing had changed. Adverting his eyes, Caliban sat down with the book, feeling ashamed. 

When Rose sat down with him, the creature could see that the front was also more form fitting. “Thankfully I can not see any of her décolletage,” he said to himself. As to steady himself, he took up the book and began thumbing through it. 

“Here is some tea”

Caliban looked up feeling more at ease and took it. “Have you read the verses, yet?” He asked hopeful. Rose nodded. Elation washed over him. “And which were your favorites?” He waited expectantly but an answer did not come. “Here,” he continued as he thumbed through the pages. “This is one of my favorites. It seems appropriate for this kind of morning.” He gladly passed her the book, his finger pointing to the verses. She took the book and glanced at the page for a few a moments.

“It’s very good” she said shyly and made to pass the book back to him.

“You haven’t even read it” Caliban said getting more angry than he had intended. “Look at this line. It is so rich with emotion” he stood up and leaned over to show her. He watched her as she read it. There was no change in her countenance.

“Yes, it’s very beautiful.” She passed the book back to him and Caliban sat thinking.

“Here, just one more, please. This line is beautifully crafted.” He gave her the volume and pointed to a line. 

She took a moment and much to Caliban’s dismay concurred with him. He had tricked her by opening to the publisher’s page where only a list of names and places could be found. There was no beauty or craft to be found there. He watched her as she buttered a piece of bread, feeling sorry that his suspicion was correct.

She caught him doing so. “Do you need more of something?”

“How do I tell her I know? Should I tell her? Will not shame fill her?” He thought the best course of action then was to do nothing, and so he dismissed her worry, going back to enjoying her company.  
_________________  
That night, however, his thoughts were consumed by the thought. Books had been his companions over the years; his primers. He could not imagine a life without them. “Is it not criminal that she, who is so alone, should not have the pleasure of enjoying them, as well?” he asked to the cave. 

Caliban felt compelled to assist Rose. It was the least he could do. He decided upon it then. He would teach her how to read and, he supposed, write. 

A few hours after dawn, he walked to the cottage and found her occupied once again with laundry. Clothed once again in a simple dress and apron, Caliban still found his new companion charming. 

The creature watched her from his seat at the table. His resolve the previous night had been so set, but now he found it wavering. Finally, after much waffling, he blurted it out ineloquently, “You don’t know how to read, do you, Rose?”

She stopped wringing out a shirt and he felt her stillness. Her body had become rigid. Why had he said it so?

“Rose, do you know how to read?” he asked tenderly, coming closer to her.

She would not look at him and again began wringing out the shirt. Her commitment to silence was worse than if she had hurled insults at him. He came still closer and stood at her side near the sink.

“You needn’t be ashamed. I had to teach myself to read. I…I want to teach you, too. Would you let me?”

She turned her face and met his eyes. She had a curious expression on her face, not quite believing he was serious. 

“I’ll teach you to write, too.”

She was conflicted, but Caliban could not guess as to why.

“I promise if I make for a poor tutor, we can stop.”

She gazed down at the shirt. “My father doesn’t see why a girl like me should know how to read. He’s very set on not having me learn.”

Pity for his friend and rescuer filled Caliban, as did a loathing for her father. “What kind of man is this who knowingly and purposefully keeps his daughter ignorant?” Caliban contemplated.

“Rose, you should know how to read. My books have been my constant companion in my lonely life. Do you want to be able to read?”

“Yes” she choked on tears that were welling up inside of her. 

Caliban almost embraced her, but refrained. Instead, he grinned and stated, “Good we can start today.”

He found that Rose knew how to write many of the letters and could remember the simple ABC tune in both French and English. She also knew how to write her name and could write it beautifully since it was the only word she had to practice writing when she was bored. Apparently, her mother had taught her these things all those years ago. They had to go over all the sounds associated with each letter and Caliban realized the need for a blackboard and chalk. 

The next day, he eagerly travelled into the next town where he purchased some pieces of chalk and a child’s school blackboard to help Rose with writing. The creature found it regretful that all his books were such difficult ones, but Rose labored in her stride to read them.

Now occupied with a task, the two spent even more time together. Caliban often sat directly across from her assisting her and sometimes even next to her. When she had laundry to do he would test her on spelling and when her hands hurt too much to hold the dry and dusty chalk, she would spell words aloud for him. They shared many moments of frustration, but also of tenderness and elation. Rose was so happy when she came back from church a few weeks after the tutoring had begun. In the town, she had been able to read various shop store names, as well as the items for purchase. 

Pride swelled in Caliban for he was serving as the thing he’d always bemoaned not having. He was useful to someone not for his physical strength and unending stamina, but for his patience, intelligence, and kindness. The sensation of being so appreciated, for Rose did so, was immense and wonderful. 

Of course, with so much time spent in each other’s company, the flutterings that had already been present in Caliban’s heart grew. He was always eager to see her and he felt she was always thus to see him. He found himself watching her movements, taking in her smell, even listening to her breath more often. 

As he lay alone at night in the cave, the creature would think over all the moments of the day and almost think himself glowing. Caliban’s thoughts of Rose were of the highest esteem and at first these thoughts pained him not, but over the course of the weeks, his heart began to hurt. He found himself longing to be in her presence, yearning for her to smile at him, wishing he never had to leave her side. The intensity of the emotions were so great that they drove Caliban to pace the cave sometimes all night or go out to the forest on nightly strolls. Even there, however, he could not push her from his mind for he would espy an animal hiding in the bushes and think how Rose would be so interested in it.  
____________  
Finally, one day, almost a month after she had rescued him, he had to admit to himself that he loved her. He loved her so much that he couldn’t imagine being parted from her. The first time he had seen Rose in full light, he had pushed down his more sensual feelings. He tried not to think of her so basely, but now he was finding it almost impossible. His eyes traced her curves and he so fervently desired to hold her to him. These thoughts would distract him while he was instructing her and a few times she had had to awaken him from them. He hoped she could not tell the reason for him acting thus.

The beatings of his heart and the strain that this put on him nearly made him weep. How could he think of her thus? She who was so gentle and good to him? He was wretched he thought both in form and in mind. 

Books were once a source of hope and diversion for him, but under this new strain of love, only woefully reminded him of the emotion. He would have to return to London, he decided. It was time anyway. The players would have returned to the theatre. Vincent had told him he could take his time coming back, but that wasn’t because of the company’s lack of need for him, Caliban knew, but rather due to Vincent’s own guilt. 

And then, of course, there was his creator. “Who knows what the doctor, the demon, has been about while I, his monster and his threat, have been absent…Perhaps,” Caliban thought with horror, “Frankenstein has started work on another being. Perhaps another man. Or perhaps my demon has thought my demand was not urgent. Oh but how it is. This predicament I have found myself in only proves it more so. I require a mate who is immortal and is mine alone. Am I not living in an ill-fated dreamworld here with Rose?” 

Despite these rationalizations, Caliban found himself unable to resolve to go for there was a tiny voice of hope in his brain. While he warred with himself over his feelings, there was also the undeniable fact that Rose cared for him. She always made sure he had enough to eat and that the cave was comfortable. She would listen to his stories and be interested to know his opinions and thoughts. With trepidation the young woman had asked about his scars. So concernedly did she ask that Caliban said he had had them for as long as he could remember. Pity had filled her eyes and she had kissed his marred cheek. Could she love him as he loved her?  
Caliban spent the next few days watching for how she would react to him. He wished to see if he could gratify that voice in his head. She smiled at him and with him and seemed to wish to please him with her progress. The way her blue eyes sometimes shone made him believe that Rose felt at least something within her for him. All was not hopeless. Love could once again feel joyous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I write, I typically envision a certain celebrity playing the role. For Rose I envisioned and was inspired by Marion Cottillard.


	3. January 1892, part ii

“Even from my birth, I realized I was a monster. My form was monstrous and the way rage could fill me, but I never knew I could be monstrous as human men so often are. I never knew my demon could be witnessed outside of my appearance and strength.” The creature continued bitterly. “But I wanted her so badly. I wanted me to be her love and she to be mine. I had the ferocious sort of love a young man does and I found myself denigrating to the mind games used by your kind.” 

The creature paused to recollect himself. “The first time I kissed her” the creature smiled, “I was so pleasantly surprised she did not bat me away or scream. Yes, father, she did none of those things though it may well shock you. I didn’t know how one action could make a soul feel so greedy. At first that one kiss and her seeming enjoyment of it made me overflow with joy. I needed nothing else in this world but that. A day passed however and I found I wanted for more. So I kissed her again the next afternoon hoping my lips could linger longer upon hers. This time I was bold enough to wrap my arms about her. There was no push back or recoiling away from her. I was like an innocent puppy so jovial in my own pleasure. But then she turned her head away and would not look upon me. I saw tears welling in her eyes. She told me she would have to lie to her father now. I asked her meaning and she told me how her father asked her many questions about her conduct while he was away. I saw the emptiness in her eyes as she told me this; it was the emptiness that always appeared when she mentioned her father. 

“How alike we were then to have father's who we were troubled with. I asked her what he would do, but she refused to answer and ran away. I felt like the monster I was.  
I thought upon her lack of a smile or blush when I kissed her. Even as the guilt and self abhorrence filled me, I became so angry. I wanted to kill you for making me this way and for not paying closer attention to my appearance. I wanted to punish her for her rejection. I thought about leaving right then without telling her. I had been well enough for a long time. How terrible would it be for her, I thought, if she came tomorrow and I was gone. But as I tried to gather my belongings, my eyes fell on the small chalkboard I was using to help her with her letters. I realized what I was doing. Abandoning her.” The creature gave a chuckle and looked at his master knowingly. 

“Here was a person who had showed me great kindness and even friendship and I was now going to leave her because she would not return a monster’s affections.I thought that I should and would be happy to be her friend for ‘For love is a celestial harmony Of likely hearts compos'd of stars' concent, Which join together in sweet sympathy,To work each other's joy and true content.’

“But she did not return the next day or the day after that. I grew worried that I had lost her affections forever and then my mind became awash with terrible things that might have happened to her. But I also felt the anger swell in me again. Perhaps she had decided to abandon me. Could I blame her, creator? Can one blame a rabbit from running from a fox? Or a deer running from a wolf? But this fact only made me more enraged. 

“When I couldn’t take it anymore, I walked to her cottage. I had allowed my mind to become so vexed that I thought I might find her in some sort of duress or perhaps find that she had lied about everything she’d said.  
“She answered the door only after many knocks. Oh creator, I had never seen her as she looked standing there before me. My anger toward her vanished and all I could feel was remorse.”


	4. November 1891

Rose stood before Caliban shrunken and tense. 

He thought, “it was in poor judgement that I came here.” He was going to leave in defeat, his soul crushed, when she began to sob. She put her head in her hands and the creature came toward her, but then hesitated. He wanted to fly to her and ask her what troubled her, but he held back. What if his affection and concern were rejected? He felt so awkward in human graces, but watching her standing in the doorway, looking so fragile, awakened his most noble and, simultaneously, vulnerable feelings. By the time he had set upon letting his pride go, it was too late. The moment was gone. Rose was then retrieving a sheet of paper from the small kitchen table.

With red eyes, Rose walked to the door and began pleading, “Please, please, read this to me, please Caliban.” Her hands shook as she passed the paper to Caliban and trepidation filled her face. The creature could feel his face fall, for he longed to hold her and comfort her and here she was asking him to read a letter. He took it from her regretfully and his eyes scanned it quickly. 

“Dear Mr. Brutwell,” the letter began. The creature glanced at her and she guiltily averted her eyes. “I have not yet finished my business in the north and must stay away a few months longer. I ask you to continue to watch Rose and look after her.” He glanced at her, feeling lamentable. “You have been a trusty friend in this regard. You should get this letter before the Squire’s dance. You wrote to me last year how you found Rose watching it from a tree like some gypsy.” This gave him yet another reason to pause. Caliban’s eyes fixed upon Rose, but she did not look upon him. Her cheeks were emblazoned red and he felt her shame deeply. “I will make it worth your while if you take her to the Squire’s dance. Tell her I told you so, but do not let her dance with any of the young men. If she cannot have an enjoyable day watching the festivities, then she doesn’t need to bother about them anymore. I will send word when I will come back.” 

With the letter finished, Caliban moved further into the house and set the letter upon the table. Rose stood still gazing down at the ground. Her sobbing had stopped but her face was flushed. Though the creature wished to embrace her and tell her it would be alright, he daren’t. A sparrow began its halting and trill song to greet the morning. 

“Let us go for walk, shall we?” Caliban tried in his merriest of voices.

“It does not say what date he will come home?” 

The creature picked up the letter again and looked it over, “no.” He was thinking of leaving. His place felt so awkward in this, but Rose began crying again. 

“I am so frightened, Caliban.” 

Caliban’s heart stopped and he wished that he could make up his mind about what to do. What would a normal man do? A mortal? Carefully, he walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her so that her small head was in his sturdy chest. He had never been in this position before. It was strange to have another soul touching him and him being allowed to reciprocate. For the moment, his selfish feelings disappeared. Caliban only felt strangely blessed, as well as concerned for the young woman resting her head against him. The worry over whether they were to be friends or lovers vanished from his mind.

A few moments passed and Rose awkwardly stepped back from her comforter, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. The creature felt a wave of loneliness sweep over him and yet he had to suppress a smile that trying to form on his face. Oh how he wished he could offer her a handkerchief like he’d seen done in plays. Slowly to the creature’s strong arms returned to his sides. It was as if his limbs were mourning the loss of the thing they had taken pleasure in holding.  
“I am sorry. You must think I am so foolish” she laughed, but she still trembled. Before he could open his mouth to respond that he did not think so, she began, “I am so glad that you are here. I thought…I thought perhaps that you might’ve run away after…I was going to come see you today” she drifted off and looked around. She was distracted, but seemed brighter than before. “Here, sit.” And she drew a chair for him. “I will bring us some tea.” 

So Caliban sat and they enjoyed tea together as if what had passed a few days prior had not occurred. The creature had forgotten how pleasant it was to be in her company. Within a few hours, both were lighter in spirits.

As Caliban quietly read his book, while Rose was occupied at the sink with laundry, there came a knock at the door. Both froze. Rose cautiously entered the living room and looked across at her guest with worry. She held a finger to her mouth.  
The knocks came again and a woman’s voice called out, “Rose, Rose, I have a basket of laundry for you that wants doin.’” Rose sighed with relief and again briefly put her finger to her lips as she walked to the door. 

Opening the door a crack, Rose asked, “Mrs. Glastonbury?”

“Well, who else you expectin’? Didn’t you hear me knockin? Aren’t you going to let me in?” Rose glanced at her male guest.

“Yes, just give me a moment to tidy up.” Rose closed the door and motioned to Caliban to hide upstairs. He obliged her and quietly climbed the stairs, hiding himself against a corner. He heard Rose fussing about in the kitchen. 

“It needn’t be that clean.” Mrs. Glastonbury hollered through the door. Rose finally let her in, apologizing for the wait. 

The creature remained silent throughout as Mrs. Glastonbury complained about her stiff legs and back and demanded a cup of tea. 

“Oh…oh you’re still in your dress from yesterday” the older woman said, voice full of suspicion and jest. 

“Yes, I…” Rose began.

“You expectin’ a gentleman caller? All your father’s little rules not working out as he planned?”

“No, I just-“

“It’s a shame your father didn’t let you dance with any of those men. Imagine, going to a country dance and not being allowed to dance when you’re young. I wouldn’t  
have stood for a moment when I was your age, especially if I’d have as many young men asking to give me a turn about.”  
Caliban, “the monster, the creature,” sat listening and every word reminded him of how he was not good enough for Rose. It hurt him deeply. 

“Though I hope he realizes that he can’t keep you hid forever. To be certain he won’t be able to keep you from being seen. Now-“

“Mrs. Glastonbury, when is the laundry wanted by?”

“Oh, in 3 days. But as I was saying-“

“Please, Mrs. Glastonbury, my father would not like to hear me talk of such things.” Rose said meekly.

“Well, hang him, we women enjoy discussing it.”

“I don’t.” Rose replied more forcefully before Mrs. Glastonbury had a chance to continue. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Glastonbury.” she continued timidly again. “I find it a disagreeable topic.”

“You won’t before long my dear. I’ve overstayed my welcome, I see.” 

Mrs. Glastonbury left. Rose watched the old woman from the door. Caliban thought over what he’d heard the woman talking about. That’s where Rose had been yesterday. She hadn’t mentioned it.

Carefully he descended and shyly asked, “Do you want me to go?”

She looked at him curiously. “No. Let’s sit down again.”

The creature sat and Rose went to the laundry room. With fear, the creature continued in as even a voice he could manage, “You went to a dance yesterday? The one in that letter?”

“Yes,” came from the laundry room. 

“You didn’t say anything” The creature managed, but he wanted to cry out. 

“It wasn’t very enjoyable…I wish , I wish I hadn’t gone.” She came out from the laundry room. “My father was right, I suppose.” There was something in her defeated countenance that made him wish to fly to her side once again. 

“I..I…guess” he stumbled trying to remain composed, “I guess going to a dance and not being able to partake would be like…like…” but he couldn’t exactly say what for his brain was muddled again. Caliban could think of nothing else but kissing her. Suddenly he stood. “I should leave you. I think you wish to be alone.” 

“I’m not very good company today. I’m sorry. Let me walk with you.” Caliban wanted to protest for his emotions were so strongly felt that he did not know if he could stop himself from kissing her. But somehow he did and they walked to the cave in silence, enjoying the sunshine and the crisp air. He managed to stifle his desires and only wished her goodbye. 

The next few days for him passed in the same manner. At the beginning of her visit or his trek to the cottage, Caliban’s resolve to remain her friend was strong. He simply enjoyed that he was not alone, but then by the end of their time together, his heart ached and his mind seemed mixed.  
_____________  
One Sunday morning, the creature awoke from the most pleasant of dreams. In his mind, he had envisioned he and Rose in a cottage together. The cottage was their own. Rose was sat next to him on the couch, a book in her lap. It was Wordsworth and she was reading aloud to him and he was helping her with the more difficult words. He sat attentively next to her, with his arm about her slender waist and his other hand resting on the volume. There was a shared felicity between the two. When she finished the last line of the poem, he said joyfully, “You are getting better. You read so beautifully now.” She began to blush and shake her head. Lightly he brought his lips her cheek and then her mouth. There was no resistance or passivity. put the book on the table carefully and the amorous attentions continued until…until he imagined doing to her what he had once espied Simon and Maude doing together.

Oh how ashamed he had felt to watch, but he couldn’t turn his gaze from it. There was something awful about the act. So animalistic, he had thought. And almost a violence to it. At the same time, though, Caliban found himself mesmerized. It was thrilling, of course. More than that, after the initial beastliness of it, it seemed to be beautiful. Two bodies in concert with each other. It had scared him to see it. The creature had been terrified and disappointed that he would never know that kind of love. Never again did he allow himself to spy on the couple when they were in Maud’s dressing room.

Yet here in his dream…He was much gentler than Simon had been with Maude. Caliban could smell and taste his own lover. He felt Rose’s soft skin. The dream was almost tangible.

Upon waking, Caliban realized he was covered in sweat. His heart beat so quickly he thought it would leap from his chest. But still his mind could only think upon the pleasantness that he had just experienced. The creature reveled in it.

The joy carried him to the cottage. Rose was at church, but he knew he could wait inside for her. He felt as a child does at Christmas. Happiness filled him. He thought how nice it would be to have lunch ready for her and he set about it. All the while, Caliban thought upon the dream; he found himself imagining that he was not setting out a plate of biscuits for a friend, rather a wife. The demand he had made upon Frankenstein would be obsolete.

In truth, he had no idea about how to cook anything, but it didn’t deter his efforts. His childlike happiness continued until he spilled two eggs onto his pants. He cleaned up the mess then quickly made to go outside to get more water. He was arrested, however. Caliban stood in front of the small, oval mirror that hung by the door. For a blessed hour he had forgotten what he was. Reality came rushing upon him. 

“What I have dreamed, will and can never happen. It does not matter that she shares loneliness with me. Loneliness neither detracts from who or what I am: an aberration, a monster, a horror show” Caliban told himself 

The pain the creature felt was unimaginable. Bitterness settled upon him again. He thought violently about his master, his father. The mission the creature had set upon, of following his master, must continue. 

“I will leave here. I will leave her” he thought as hatred emanated from him.

Suddenly, the door opened. In surprise, Rose recoiled for a moment upon seeing him. Her reaction only served to further fan the flames of his rage.

“I’m leaving,” he said with finality as she shut the door. 

“What do you mean?”

“I am going back to London. You need not recoil from my looks anymore.” The confusion that swept across her face caused him to waver. “I am better thanks to your administrations, but I should go back to the theatre.” He said firmly. “Move from the door, please.”

There was fear in her face, but she did not move. “You are upset with me. We are friends, you must tell me why.” The creature could not help but sneer. “Caliban, please. I will be so lonely with-“

“Yes, you will be lonely” he interrupted bitterly, “so I should stay for that reason. What about for me? What about how I feel? What about the feelings you bring about in me? Are they to remain so ungratified?” Rose’s face had become a blank and she no longer looked to him with pained eyes. “You call us friends and allow me to teach you to read, but when I want to show any affection to you, you run from it. I am more like your pet than your friend. Now let me pass, Rose.” He knew he could make her move. He could use his force. But he still could not bear the thought of hurting her. 

“Is this all about that?” she said empty. 

“About that?” he replied angrily. “Yes, it is about that. How could it not be when you stand before me so sweetly and innocently and then want nothing to do with me. I cannot help my face. I know it is not one that is pleasant to look it. I am ashamed of it. But I imagined that there would be sympathy from you. I imagined that you would not find me so misshapen.” He could see the words cut into her. It was then he saw an opportunity to do something he’d never done. He felt her within his grasp. “If you were to show me a shred of affection I would stay.” He felt his voice waver. He waited but she made no reply. “So be it then. I am too wretched for you to think of loving. Move.” 

He came toward her and she pushed herself against the door. Caliban could see the tears forming in her eyes. “If she cries and begs me to stay, I will not,” he told himself. But as he came closer after his second demand, her eyes looked up and met his. There was a moment where he thought she was going to plead. A moment where her jaw quivered at a lack of words. The creature decided he would have to push her out of the way, but as he was about to, his mouth was greeted by hers.  
Caliban pulled away in shock. He wasn’t sure she had kissed him. He looked at her uncertain face. Her eyes seemingly asking if that was what he wanted. He breathed in deeply and eagerly took her face in his hands. Elation and love swelled from him. Hesitatingly at first, he kissed her back. Then he began passionately, pushing her against the door. He could think of nothing else besides kissing her. One hand rested on her waist while the other continued to stroke her cheek. 

Rose made a pained noise. The creature pulled away quickly, afraid she’d changed her mind and he would be what he was a few days ago. But rose rubbed her back. She’d been pushed into the door knob. With relief, Caliban laughed. Rose smiled at him.

“Come, come away from the door. I made you lunch.” Taking her smaller hand in his, Caliban led her to the kitchen. He bade her sit down. “You are always cooking for me. I thought I should repay the favor.” 

Sitting next to her, at her request, he read her some of his favorite sonnets of Shakespeare. The creature was merry and even embellished his reading with voices. Caliban felt so emboldened. As he cleared away the dishes, he caught Rose looking at him strangely.

“Yes?” he said unsure. ‘Why do you look at me in such a manner?” He sat beside her again and took her hands. 

“Does it really have that power?” He narrowed his brows at her confused. “This?” she said and kissed him briefly. “The power to change anger to happiness? The power to make a man change from angel to monster for want of it?” She looked distressed. 

“I am sorry Rose for how I behaved. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I-“

“Do you love me?” she asked firmly.

He laughed in disbelief. “Love you? Love you? Oh” he sighed. “I think I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you. ‘She was a Phantom of delight. When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent.’ Since I first saw you replacing my bandages. I could-“

Again she interrupted him. “I don’t mean like that. I don’t mean if you love me because I am pretty. That cannot be the only reason why men marry and…is it?” Her question was laden with deep set fear. 

“How could, how could anyone fail to love you?”


	5. November 1891, Continued

Caliban found himself wanting, needing more. He wanted to sit with an arm about her waist or have her rest her head in his lap or be allowed to touch… “to touch what,” he thought. “To touch everything” was the resounding answer.

Yes, the next few weeks passed in sheer delight for she did allow him to sit beside her and wrap his arm around her. As well, she seemed to warm more to their kissing. Reservations still existed, though. One day as they were sitting together in the cave, next to the fire, Caliban found himself unable to stop his kisses. He needed her desperately. His adulations became so passionate that Rose found herself falling off her seat and lying on the cold ground. But Caliban did not stop. Indeed his passions emboldened. He was over her, kissing her, with one elbow holding his weight while the other arm grazed up and down her waist. He was so hungry for her that at first he didn’t hear her saying his name.

He looked at her concerned. The ground was hard and cold she said. He smiled. Of course she was uncomfortable.

“Here,” he said taking her hand and helping her up. “We can go to the cot.” She let go of his hand. He looked back at her. “Please, Rose, please. I won’t do anything. We will be much more comfortable.” She assented and he was soon kissing her again and as before she was soon lying down and he leaning over her, showering her with love. 

Caliban heard her trying to say his name. He quieted her by kissing her more ardently. Caliban did not wish to hear that they should stop. He was so content lying next to her, feeling the warmth from her body, finally sharing love’s touch. 

Caliban’s playful, joyous affections eventually gave way to more lustful ones. His caresses on her waist intensified. He found himself getting over her, all the while smothering her with kisses. He could tell she was trying to form his name with her mouth and he felt her arms trying in vain to push him off. Without a moment’s hesitation and with no difficulty, he secured her wrists in one hand above her head. He felt her squirming below him, but he felt that if he continued his affections,  
Rose would warm to them. She had to. 

Curious for a different sensation, Caliban began kissing her neck and cheeks. He could hear her saying his name tearfully. Her pleas went unanswered until she raised her voice and began struggling against him more violently. He realized what he was about and Caliban ceased, guiltily let go of her wrists and sat up. Terror was evident upon her face. She sat up and was quiet.

“Rose, I’m sorry.” For he was. He had said to her he would not harm her and there he had been only a moment ago atop of her. A shutter passed through him as he considered what might’ve taken place if the monster inside of him had not be quelled. “Rose, please, I’m sorry. I…Please look at me.” She would not and he hung his head in shame. 

“Why must m- you-. What makes you want -. It is not your fault. I should not have sat on the bed next to you.” She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up. I should go home. She still had not looked at him.

Caliban stood up in a flash. He gently grabbed her wrists. “Please, please do not go. We should not part so. No more kissing or anything to do if you are opposed to it. Only stay, please.”

Rose looked up. “Do you promise?”

Her response stung Caliban for he had hoped she was warming to the touches more. “Yes, of course.” He nodded and smiled, though it pained him. They sat by the fire again and Caliban passed her a book of poems. She struggled through them, but he could tell she was improving. There was something alluring about hearing the words said by a woman, as well as hearing them said with her French pronunciation. 

He walked her and Avril back to the cottage when night started to fall. He grabbed her hand desperately before she went inside. “Rose, I love you. You know that, don’t you? I cannot excuse my actions toward you sometimes. It is as if there is a…a demon inside me. Can you understand?”

There was a far off look on her face and she nodded. Caliban wished her goodnight mournfully for he could not kiss her goodnight. But low and behold she went on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Caliban thought upon what his next course of action should be. He had to secure her affections and to do so, he knew he needed employment and money. She could not marry him and go live in a cave and he certainly could not have her live in the theatre. Marriage cost money. Certainly more than he possessed. There was only one person to ask: Victor. His body coursed with anger. To ask him, his father, for money. It seemed so beneath him. It appeared so pitiful. But who else could do so?

“I must go to London” he stated one afternoon. Fear crossed her face. She thought he was leaving. 

“You are going?”

Caliban could not help smiling to himself. He came to her and took her hands. “Not for long. I just need to settle some things.” She seemed unsure that he wasn’t lying, but the promise of keeping his books here, settled the matter.

And so by foot he travelled to London, trying to stick to side roads, as well as only travel at night. 

When he reached London, he went straight to his creator’s dwelling. He had thought long about what he would tell him. At first, the creature had thought upon demanding at least 500 pounds and promising to take back his demand on his father. But then he realized what an imbecilic course of action that would be. 

“What if she refuses? What if I require more funds? I cannot let go of the power I have over him.” There was still a darker thought, though, that filled his mind. “Even if she should accept me, she is mortal. What if the next day, the next month, or the next year, she were to get sick? I will have lost everything.” No, Victor would not be told what the money was for nor would he be set free.

As the Creature expected, getting the money, £200, was difficult and took four days to do. In that time, he visited the theatre. Vincent was elated to see him, fearing that he had died. He was abashed, however, when Caliban informed him that his return as stage rat would have to be postponed. Vincent looked at him curiously.

“What is it? I promise, Vincent, I will return and do my duties as before. I just need a few more weeks.”

Vincent smiled at him and narrowed his eyes. “If I am not mistook, you are a man in love.” The creature could only blush and feel deep embarrassment. “With that young girl, I wager. What was her name? Daisy…no…”

“Rose” the creature whispered.

“Rose. What a beautiful girl she was with a noble soul.” Vincent smiled. “Are you going to ask for her hand?”

The creature hesitated. “Do you think…do you think she will accept my proposal?” Vincent narrowed his eyes and paused before he began,

“It is hard to tell what the fairer sex thinks or will do. They are very unpredictable…changeable…But she is fool if she does not.”

The creature nodded, understanding how unlikely it seemed. “Thank you…Please, please do not tell anyone of this.”

“Of course not, my pet. It is our secret” and he touched his finger to his nose and they bid farewell. 

As the creature made his way back to Victor’s home, he thought of how even his friend thought it impossible for Rose to say yes. Caliban began to doubt what he was doing. What if she laughed in his face for his impudence? What if she threw him out? He imagined all sorts of wicked scenarios that could play out, getting himself worked up over them. He was glad for Victor’s absence when he arrived.

Finally, with much bitterness, Victor procured and gave him the money. Victor inquired if this would release him. The nerve to ask such a question.

“Release you? You will never be released. I will always be watching and following you” Caliban responded. 

“Release me from your bequest?” Victor begged. Caliban remained silent. “Release me from making you a mate?” the scientist asked again more troubled. The creature refused to answer and left. 

“Yes, let him suffer in the unknown,” Caliban thought.  
_______________________  
The creature walked back quickly, afraid that anymore time apart would lessen his love’s affection for him. He did not reach the cave until nightfall and knew that Rose might find a call at midnight startling. “Besides,” he thought, “I should improve my appearance.” 

With the money, Caliban had purchased new clothes. They still remained black for the other colors he had tried on had startled him. Unable to sleep, he waited for dawn. As the sun crept up, he made way to the cottage. He was stopped in his tracks however at the sight of another horse in the yard, as well as a wagon.Caliban crept to the gate. He could not peer into the windows. Strangely, all of them were shuttered. 

The creature walked into the woods a safe distance from the house and found a rock to sit on. He watched the house carefully. Finally, after a few hours passed, the door opened. Caliban stood up and gazed. A middle aged man with rough features came out. This stranger came to the black horse Caliban had never seen before and cursed at it a bit till it moved to the bucket he had filled. This was Rose’s father, was it not? Instinctually Caliban knew that it was. 

For what seemed an eternity, Caliban waited to see her. Three restless days passed before he espied her coming out of the house. His heart leapt. His mind had begun constructing the most terrible and dark of thoughts. From afar, he gazed at Rose as she fed both horses. She was so much gentler with them than was her father. But as soon as she finished, she went back inside. Caliban hoped that Sunday would be the day he could alert her to his presence for surely she would go to church with her father. But Sunday came and went and Rose remained inside. He knew she was alive and well enough because she fed the horses everyday and he’d occasionally see her hang clothes to dry.

Also under his gaze was Rose’s father. Caliban listened as closely as he could for any signs of distress emanating from the house. He would watch as the father would go to the river on some mornings for water or would sit outside and smoke. 

A week must have passed before Caliban had any way of signaling Rose. He sat slumped on a rock, his head resting against a tree when he heard the door open. Blearily, his eyes opened, expecting to be greeted with the sight of the old man. But it was Rose. In one hand, she carried the water jug, and in the other, a basket. His body tensed. She was going out. She did not head toward the river however. She went toward the cave. 

“Perhaps to see if I am there,” Caliban thought joyously. He followed behind her sticking to the wood for he saw her looking over her shoulder. “Perhaps to see if her father is behind her.”

But Rose diverged from the path that would’ve led her to the cave and her pace quickened. She looked behind her less. Caliban kept pace with her until finally she stopped at a pond and looked around her. The creature stood in the woods behind her watching. She put the jar and basket down. Caliban finally saw what was in it. It stopped him from alerting her to his presence. A towel and some soap lay in the basket. He stared at it a moment and when he looked up, she had taken off her coat and scarf. He inhaled sharply and watched as she began unbuttoning her jacket. It was far too cold to be taking a bath outdoors and he saw how she was now shivering as she sat and began unlacing her shoes. He stood mesmerized. She removed her shoes and then lifted her dress to take off her stockings. Caliban moved to the right a few paces to see more. Her stockings were not like Maud’s. They did not seem to belong to a princess. They were stockings to keep out the cold and as she worked on sliding them down, he could see that they had also been mended many times. As she rolled off the right stocking, he finally had full sight of one of her legs. It was beautiful and long, paler than her face and arms. He had never touched her legs, never put his had under her dress. The beauty of her as she was working on the left one fixed him to the spot. 

Did a voice inside him tell him that this was sheer impropriety? That he should make himself known? He couldn’t remember when he relived this scene. 

She carefully took off her jacket and placed it on the rock with the other clothes. Her arms were now bare and her chest was more exposed. She set about the skirt next until finally she was only in her short chemise. She was shivering, but she did not appear to have a mind to abort her mission. More quickly she began removing her drawers from under her chemise. He had never seen this before. When Maud and Simon had been sharing their private moment in her dressing room, they’d both remained clothed. This was more than the creature could comprehend. Unknowingly, he inhaled sharply and leaned to the right. A branch snapped under his foot.  
She pushed her chemise down and covered herself quickly looking toward the woods, towards him. She was frightened. 

“Is someone there?”

Caliban moved forward. “It is only me.”

“Caliban!” A smile crossed her face, but was quickly replaced by perplexity as she stood up. For a moment, she hadn’t guarded herself as she was relieved it was him, but it had passed and now she stood shivering, trying to cover herself up. 

The creature was still awestruck by the sight of her and couldn’t keep his eyes from looking down at her legs, but when he saw how she shook, he went towards her taking his coat off. “What are you doing out here?” She moved away from him a pace and looked away. He stood helplessly with his coat. “Please, wear this” he said quietly. He held it out at arms length. Was it as hopeless as this? 

Instead, though, she came toward him and turned her back allowing him to put it on her. He smiled as he did so and when she turned around to thank him he felt his quest wasn’t in vain. He put his arms about her and kissed her. In his excitement, he pushed her against a tree and began kissing harder. He had forgotten the felicity of the kiss. He barely knew what he was doing with his hands, but somehow they had managed to work their way under her chemise. When he felt her nipple, he became aware, stopped kissing and smiled at Rose briefly. Then he realized she was not returning the ardor. Her face was a blank. He was loathe to remove his hands and he kept them where they were, but he tried to talk to her. 

“Are you, are you angry with me? Angry that it has taken me so long to return? I came as quickly as he could,” he tried again, pleading her to say something. He was at a loss and tried kissing her again, but she turned her head further away. A grave sadness filled him. 

“My father has come home.”

“I know.”

She looked into his eyes surprised.

“I saw the other horse there. I..I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.” She didn’t say anything. He gulped, “Has he…hurt you?” Tears were in her eyes. Anger filled him. 

“He has hurt you. Where? Where?” The hand that was on her breast squeezed hard and she winced. “Where?” He realized he had injured her and released her breast. He removed his hand and her chemise fell back over her body. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry” he pleaded. He tried to gain composure. “I will let you take your bath. Will you come see me when you are able?” There was no response. “Please.” She nodded and tried to give back his coat, but he refused it.  
______________  
She did not visit the cave that night and his mind became a haven for pitiable thoughts. She would no longer love him or wish to see him after that he thought. But she did visit the cave in the morning. 

Caliban remembered her entrance. She seemed lack luster. She carried his jacket over one arm and would not look him in the face when he came near to her.

“Rose” he exalted, “I-“

“You must leave.” 

It was a blow to him. “I only just came back, Rose. Why must I go?”

“You must”

His mind was abuzz and then he remembered his only reason for being here. “But you haven’t heard what I wish to ask you. Please, please sit down.” She consented and they sat together by the fire. He gazed at her and he fortified himself. Her continual evasion was not making this easier, but he had to get it out. And get it out he did. He quoted a few lines of Wordsworth and Keats to show his regard for her until he finally asked her for her hand. “Rose, I cannot..you are the first…Can you not see how I love you? How I would do anything I could to please you? How I will strive and endeavor to give you everything you should have?” He felt himself becoming hysterical. “My life was a darkness until I met you. Please, Rose, please” he took her hand, “Please at least consider marrying me.” She met his face finally, but he saw it. He saw her eyes dart to the scar that ran down his face. His horror. 

“Is it my visage you are opposed to? This scar?” He let go of her hand and traced his own hand down his face. Rage built up and he said pitiable. “And why would you not be opposed to it. What woman could imagine waking up next to this every morning. How foolish I would’ve been to-“ He stopped himself. “I did not think you were like this.” He lamented.

“Well, I am” she shouted at him as she stood. “I am like this. I am a shallow and stupid girl.” There were tears running down her face. “How can you expect me to marry you? You…You…are like a monster. I thought I was doing something kind when I brought you in from the woods, but you want so much from me. Too much.” She was distraught. “My father will take me to confession this Sunday and I will be forced to tell the father what I have done. And I will not be able to lie to him or my father. He will-“

“That is why you must marry me, Rose!” He joined her. “I will protect you from him. You will know real love.” He pleaded. “I know you love me.”

“No, you will go away from here and never see me again.” She began to walk away, but The creature grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him harshly. She resisted against him, but he easily overcame her. He pushed her firmly against the wall of the cave and stopped her from talking with his fervent kisses. He let his free hand deal with her troublesome dress. He was desperate for her. He stopped kissing her so that he could better lift her dress. Having managed to raise them more successfully, he lifted his face to began his adorations anew. If she was going to hurt him so, he would repay the favor. He felt her trying in vain to struggle against him and then he tasted her salty tears. The resistance was gone. 

Thoughts raced through his mind. He could pull her to the ground and take what he wanted. It would be simply done. Equally, he could keep her pinned against the wall. 

His desire was arrested, however, when he glimpsed her face. She was shaking like a leaf and her face was not marked with anger. No it was worse. It was the face of someone who was defeated. It almost said she expected this to happen, it was inevitable. She seemed petite and childlike standing before him. Why was she not lashing out at him or screaming for help or even meeting his kisses? The creature could not move. He breathed heavily as he looked down at her turned away face, realizing finally what he was trying to do.

She said meekly, “It is what you want. Take it.” She looked into his face and with more force, “Take it!” Caliban’s heart broke and he stepped back letting her arms go and dress fall about her ankles. The creature felt so much regret that he thought he should die from it. If only I could, he thought. So the monster was within him. It wasn’t just his scar. 

“Rose, I…” he began at a loss, wishing she would look at him. She remained as silent as before. “Oh Rose, please, say something to me.”

“My father will be expecting me at home. I have to go.” He sighed. He wanted to hear her wrath, her hatred. “He will be very angry when he realizes how long I’ve been gone.” She was so distant, so cold. But did he not deserve this? 

Before she could exit the cave, Caliban stood and quickly ran to her, grabbing her wrist and forcing her to turn around. She didn’t look at him and he could tell she was doing all she could to not meet his eyes. “Please, Rose, you must understand how much I love you…I am so ashamed of what I did. Of what I’ve done.” Her seeming aloofness angered him. Why was she like this? Why did she not feel anything passionately? “Look at me!” he pleaded and then demanded. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “Say something!” he ordered.

“I did love you, but now I hate you!” she cried. The words pained her to say and were filled with disappointment even more than anger. “I wanted to keep loving you. You were my dearest friend. Why did you have to do that? You are all…all…” but she shook her head and struggled against his grasp. He let her go and watched her go out of the cave, feeling completely heartsick. 

With immediacy, he ran after her. Caliban stopped her as she was struggling to mount Avril. “Rose, please, you must understand.” She turned and coward before him. He felt ill. He had lost whatever he had had of her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I have never known generosity of your kind before. I have taken advantage of it. I must be the poorest and meanest of all creatures. I meant it when I said I loved you.” Avril whined. “I will let you go. I will leave the village.” He turned around and stalked back to the cave. Then her hand was on his shoulder he turned around. His heart fluttered for a brief second. She was on the verge of saying something.

She changed her mind, however, and looked at his scar. She then stood on her toes and kissed it. It was not a romantic kiss, he knew that. He saw it now how he had forced her affections to turn that way. She turned around and got on Avril without saying anything, wiping tears from her eyes. Caliban watched mournfully as she left.


	6. August 1899

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this prior to the release of season 3, so any events that happened in that season are not taken into account here.

His monster, his creation had returned. Victor had been awaiting him. The scientist’s madness having worn away, he hoped his action would satisfy his creations. 

The monster was as aggressive as before; his words biting and dismissive. Victor took them wearily. He listened as his demon told him of the adventures he had partaken in now. He told him of the new brutalities in man he had witnessed, as well as the weaknesses. Victor would wait until he had worn out his conversation, until he was more pacified. 

“You sit so quietly, demon, why? I can tell your condition has improved, you cannot fool me. You-“

“I have something important to tell you, John, but not until you have pacified yourself.”

“Pacified myself?” he flew into a rage and picked Victor up and pushed him against the wall. Victor however was accustomed to this behavior now. This was no longer a source of surprise or fear. Victor’s apathy to this physical threat angered Caliban more and he walked away from Victor. “What is it, you have to tell me, Frankenstein?”

Victor stayed his ground. “You must be peaceful before I show you…” he narrowed his eyes and began pondering, “I wonder if you can be the same as you were before…” But he could not say her name. His heart was still heavy from the loss of her. He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow morning I will show you.” 

John now looked at him curiously. “Fine, so be it. I shall wait.”

The next morning, Victor awoke to John looking down upon him. He jumped. “It is good to know my presence still has some effect upon you.” He sat in the chair opposite. “What is it you have to show me?”

“We must travel out of London” Victor replied having gained back his composure. “Toward the channel.”

“Then let us go.” The creature left Victor’s room and Victor rolled his eyes. He found himself trembling as he got dressed. He was still unsure of what the outcome to his work would be. 

As they travelled eastward, John became tired of Victor’s silence and mystery. The tables have turned he thought briefly to himself, but finally after one violent shake from him, Victor felt compelled to tell him part of the story.

“After you left, as you know, my mind was…troubled. I found no reason to live and completed no work, fantastic or banal. Then Sir Malcolm and Ms. Ives called on me again and I began to find my sanity once more. I thought myself to be done with the whole macabre business of…”

“Of making creatures like me” John retorted.

“Yes, and of performing autopsies. I decided to be a doctor to the living. It was rewarding in a way. I only had a few regular customers, but it seemed to suit me.  
Eventually, though, the banality of it became…I sometimes was called to the workhouse or to a factory and it was at the last moments before death, after there was anything that could be done. Seeing the bodies made it…”

“They tempted you, didn’t they?” John said not hatefully, but reflectively. The two looked at each other in regretful understanding.

“Yes, I couldn’t seem to rid myself of my fascination with them. But I refrained until…One day I was called to a dust yard near the river. One of the workers was very ill. Dying and only two-and-twenty.” Victor stopped for the carriage had come to a halt at an inn so as the horses could rest. 

“We will stay in here” John said sternly as Victor made to open the door. “Are you telling me I have a new brother?”

“Hardly. It was a young woman who lay before me dying.” The creature fixed his eyes upon his creature unsure. His interest had been peaked. “She had worked in a cotton mill for a number of years and contracted byssinossis. Do you know what that is?” He shook his head concerned. “It is the filling of the lungs with cotton dust.  
Working in the dust yards only exasperated the condition. Even with the disease, she was attractive. And I could tell she was well liked for it wasn’t the dust yard’s master who called for me but some of her fellow workers. They were willing to pay from their own meager salaries for a doctor. When her friends left the terrible place they lived in, I could see guilt written on her face. She was worried over my fee and what her friends would have to sacrifice to pay me. Imagine dying and worrying over such a thing. I gave her morphine to soothe her nerves and take away some of her pain.”  
Suddenly there was a knock on the carriage door which drew Victor away from the trance he was entering. The carriage began moving again. Victor felt embarrassed for there was a tear drop on his cheek. He brushed it away with a hand.

“Go on” Caliban said with a kinder tone.

“She became quiet for awhile, but as she grew weaker, she began to become hysterical. She asked me with true fear if I thought God forgave sins from childhood. She was insistent. However, she would not let me get a priest at first. Her friends came back and tried to soothe her. They failed and then asked if I would read to her. None of them could. And so I read to her from a book that was by her bedside. It was pot boiler. Sheer nonsense. Have you ever read one?” The creature shook his head. “She had been reading it to the other girls before she became too ill to. It was the typical broadsheet story with twists and turns. I read it to her until she drifted off again. I too drifted off and I found the next morning that everyone else had left and she had come to. She was staring at me and asked why I had stayed. She was a dying woman, I should be looking after the souls who could go on living. She asked what I thought of the book I had read aloud the previous night. I told her I thought it diverting. She then pointed to three books she had on a shelf saying that those were her favorites, not the broadsheet stories, though she enjoyed the diversion of them, as well.” Victor stopped. How to say what he discovered. For it was too soon to reveal her identity, was it not? 

“And the books, what were the books?” Caliban inquired. 

“Yes,” Victor thought, “if he thinks I’ve made a bride for him he will be desperate to know what literature she reads.”

“First was Dickens’ Bleak House,” Victor’s voice cracked. He had been talking nigh on 3 hours. This was a good place to stop the story. There was still hours of travel.  
The creature was hanging on his words. “I must stop. My voice is too exhausted.”

“You cannot stop here. Why are you teasing me with these details, demon? What is the surprise you have for me.”

“I will cont-“ 

Caliban grabbed Victor’s shirt collar, “You will tell me now. Did you make this woman into an immortal? Did you revive her dead body? Tell me! Did you try yet again to make me a mate?”

“No” Victor said vindictively. “No, I did not.” 

John sat back in his seat confused and bewildered. “Then why are you drawing out this narrative? Why are you-“

“No, I did not revive her to be your mate. Or mine. I revived her because the temptation to know, to acquire knowledge was too strong for me to deny. Perhaps she will love you as a wife or perhaps as a sister. Perhaps she will despise you. Perhaps she will pay no mind to you at all. I did not make her dress as a doll or promise her to anyone as I did-“ But he still could not say her name. Tears again had welled in his eyes and Caliban looked contemplatively out the window. 

“Does she know of my existence?”

“Yes, but I have not labored to exalt or demonize you.” They exchanged glances and for the next several hours, there was peace. Victor knew he would wait to tell him of the woman’s identity until they reached the house’s gates. He fell in and out of sleep until finally the coachman called that they were near. 

He looked at his creation in the moonlight. Caliban’s scar was clearly visible and Victor was slightly repulsed. With his proceeding creations, especially the last two, he had been so meticulous about where and how he’d cut. Victor looked beyond the scar though and could see the creature’s nervous countenance, for what if this other being of his kind really did despise him? What if she paid no heed to him? 

Before the carriage reached the front door, Victor tapped on its outside. “Stop here, please.” The coachman did so and Caliban looked at his creator perplexed. “I have yet to finish my tale.”

The two men left the carriage and it continued onward without them while they walked through the hedgerows. The demon looked exhausted, mentally and physically. His normal overbearing strength had evaporated.

“What is it you have left to tell me, creator” John asked hollowly.

Victor examined his firstborn and felt sorry for drawing out the tale as he had. Looking toward the house, Victor wondered if she was still awake. The wind had been taken from his sails, but he had to finish. 

“I never told you what other books she had with her.” John found this trivial, but Frankenstein insisted. “The other book that was in her possession was La Petite Fadette. It is by George Sand. It is French. It tells the story of a young girl who lives in the woods with her grandmother and brother and encounters twin farming boys. It’s pastoral.” Victor bit his lip for that piece of information was merely a stepping stone. “She…she lamented that she was unable to understand large portions of it because her French was not proficient enough…The last book she had was…” his voice faltered. “Was Endymion by Keats.” Out of the corner of his eyes, the doctor saw his demon look at him with longing in his eyes. Yes, the creature saw that this girl shared an affinity with him. Victor stopped at the next corner and stared at his creation attempting to predict what the reaction would be. “You could imagine what simple pleasure I had from that fact. That she enjoyed the same poetry as I. I tried to read to her from La Petite Fadette as she requested, but my French accent was too unbearable for even myself to hear. So, I decided to try my hand at Keats. I thought how appropriate it would be. When I opened her volume,” he smiled at the memory. “when I opened the volume, I was confused beyond all measure.” He chuckled. It had been a surreal and horrifying experience as it happened, but now he could view it with different eyes. His eyes met the monsters and he saw the incomprehension. “Here” he replied as he grabbed out the copy from his satchel. “Here, look upon it. It was the book that was with her things.” Tenderly, Victor passed the volume to his creation.

There was a smile of recognition and remembrance of the text upon Caliban’s face, Frankesntin thought, but the doctor waited in anticipation for the other to open the volume. The creature felt the binding of cover of the book fully and then opened it upon Victor’s request.

“Endymoin. Yes, I have read this” he said fondly.

“Yes, you have.” Victor said certainly. The creature glanced at him curiously and the doctor signaled him to continue turning pages. At first the demon turned the pages carefully, but with speed. Then he began to slow and flip back and forth between pages. Victor watched as confusion spread across his scarred face. Suddenly, John was pushing his creator into the hedgerow.

“Where did you get this, demon? Tell me!” John shouted, putting more pressure onto him.

“It was with her other books.”

“You are lying to me. Why do you set me with this trick?” 

Victor could feel the life draining out of him as the creature’s strong hands wrapped around his neck. Then suddenly, he fell onto his knees. He breathed heavily, surprised to be taking a breath. The monster had stepped away from him. But why? Then Victor heard it.

“Victor? Victor? Ou es tu?” Victor looked up at the creature. Disbelief and fear marked the already mangled face. The woman’s voice drew nearer and, like a trapped animal, Caliban looked for a place to hide. He escaped further into the labyrinth of hedges, while Victor managed to pick himself up off the ground. “Victor?” 

“J’arrive, Solange,” Victor responded, looking back toward the hedges to see if he could see his monster, but Caliban was expertly hiding. 

After seeing her to bed, Victor waited for Caliban. His demon would not have run away now. After the house had been silent for many hours, the doctor heard the creep of steps. Upon stepping out of his room, he saw John on the stairwell. The creature tried to speak, but Victor shushed him until they were in his room. 

“Is it her? Is it really her? Is it my- Is it Rose?” 

Victor scanned the man’s face. There was such tenderness and caring in those words. It was eight years since the two had last seen each other, but still the demon’s heart held her close. 

“Yes. And no. Her name is Solange now. She chose it.” John nodded. Victor could tell there were many questions he wished to ask. Victor was certain he knew what some of them were, but his first born would have to inquire before any more answers were given.

“Is she…is she…” Would he ask if she was still beautiful? Would he still be that vacuous? Or would he ask if she was unchanged? Victor waited. John asked abruptly, 

“Whose house is this?”

“Sir Malcolm’s. Or rather Ms. Ives for he has given it to her and she has let Solange stay here. And helped her in different ways.” 

“Is Ms. Ives here now?”

“No, she is away at present.” So even Mr. Clare was not free from the curiosity that Ms. Ives seemed to impose.

A long silence followed as the creature took time to think of what to ask next. “I heard you speak French to her. Does she only speak French?”

“No, she speaks both quite well, though she still has yet to be perfect in either.” 

Victor thought’s went back to the first time his latest creature recollected a word without his assistance. He had revived her in London in his lab. Until that day, she had only repeated words back to him. Then suddenly from outside there had come a whiny from a frightened horse.

“Cheval!” she had suddenly exclaimed. Frankenstein looked at her from across the room. She was standing at the window, staring out, and shook her head as to correct herself. “Horse.” He came to her.

“Yes, in French un cheval and in English a horse.” 

She looked at the horse longingly and in wonderment. 

Dr. Frankenstein related the tale to John, who was less impressed with the scientific implications than he. The clock struck one and Victor begged for rest. The creature was hesitant, but relented and Victor showed him to his room. 

“Before you attempt sleep, Frankenstein,” Caliban began troubled, “Tell me, has she remained kind? Or has she transformed?” 

“You will find her changed.” The creatures let out an exasperated sigh. “But yes, she is still kind.” Victor had some satisfaction from the scare he had given Caliban, but when he saw that tears were forming in his creation’s eyes he regretted playing with his heart in such a fashion. He hesitated. “She is also still beautiful. Goodnight.” 

Victor left the room and as quietly as he could, locked it from the outside.


	7. August 1899, part ii

The next morning, Victor awoke to sunlight streaming into his room. He rubbed his eyes and remembered the events of the past day. He looked around to see if John was staring at him from some corner, but he was not. The mere absence of Caliban’s lurking presence alarmed him. He got dressed quickly and found Marie, the maid. 

“Where is Ms. Solange?” 

“Out sir. She takes a stroll a long the beach every morning.” He thanked her and went to the monster’s room to see if he remained. He remembered having locked the door before going to bed and out of breath, he unlocked door quickly and knocked. John answered, towering over him. 

“Afraid I’d escaped?” Of course he knew, the doctor thought. “Do you intend to keep me locked up here?”

“No, I just didn’t want you frightening the staff” he quipped back.

“Or her.” Yes, that was true. But it was more than that for Victor remembered the savagery of the two’s reacquaintance. How Proteus had stood before his creator so joyful and hopeful and the next second, was rent in half on the floor. “Do you really think me as unfeeling as to injure her again?”

“I don’t know. I sometimes think you don’t even know what you’re capable of. I have some things to see to this morning. You may do what you like. Your door remains unlocked.” With that he left and went downstairs to find Solange. He heard no sounds from upstairs and he knew Caliban was warring with himself. “No, he will not let himself meet her yet.”

Frankenstein busied himself with looking over notes he had been working on in London. He gathered Solange would be out all morning. He smiled at the idea of seeing her. No, it was not how it had been with Lily. He had prevented that, but he still had moments where his heart had fluttered. He remembered when he was teaching her words and she looked at him with such curiosity and reverence. She was as Proteus had been, quick to love. It would have been easy to take her, to lead her to his bed, and gently tell her to lie down. She would’ve done it, he knew, like an unassuming child. And would she have pushed back? No, not then. Not if he had told her this was how it was normally. She would’ve accepted his words and dutifully allowed him in.

His ability to think so deviantly, scared Victor. Furthermore, Solange’s innocence and gullibility scared him. Her life would now be a long one and he did not want it marred as her former life was. But as she came to understand more and Victor attempted to give her more autonomy with how she occupied her time in the house, he saw that the passivity, selflessness, and meekness that characterized her as Rose, while still present, were not going to define her as Solange.


	8. January 1899

Victor awoke to hear arguing outside his window. That was not unusual. This was London. People found something to row about at every time of day. But as his senses cleared and he listened more closely, he realized he knew the voice. Victor ran to his window. To his horror, the doctor saw Solange outside yelling at a man with a cart. The scientist flew down the stairs as fast as he could, glad that he had not changed before bed. 

It was the middle of January, but she stood outside in her nightgown. She was scolding the gruff man in French and the man in turn was cursing at her in English. Victor came just in time to stop the man from putting his backhand to her face. He grabbed the offending man’s elbow.

“Please, please, sir, please forgive her. She’s not well,” Victor said out of breath, keenly aware this man could make mincemeat out of him. 

“You know her do you?”

Victor was forced to let go of the man’s elbow as the big man turned to face the doctor. “Yes, I’m sorry, she’s not well. She’s a patient of mine. She’s had…she’s had a fall.”

“I don’t care what she’s had. No French bitch talks to me that way and steals my profits.” 

“Please, sir, I doubt she has done anything like that” the young man said lowering his voice, hoping that the crowd gathering would dissipate. 

“Like hell she hasn’t” he proclaimed loudly. 

“Sir,” Victor continued more firmly, “she may not be well, but she is no thief.” 

The burly man raised his eyebrows, “Then what’s that?” 

Victor’s eyes followed to where the man was pointing. Solange was squatting over the ground. There was a mangy, old dog in her arms. Victor felt his face fall and he looked towards the man’s cart. “Dog Catcher” was painted on with red letters. Victor’s eyes went up to heaven. He knelt down. Solange was trying to take the muzzle off the creature. She was struggling and her fingers were turning white from the effort and the cold

“Solange, Solange,” he said gently, but firmly. “Solange, retourne le chien.” She did not look up and he felt the eyes of all the spectators on him. “Solange,” he began again more frustrated, “nous devons absolument retourner le chien.” She held onto the dog more tightly and her fingers moved more rapidly to free the dog. Victor felt anger boil in him. He worried the police would be called. Standing up, he gazed at the man, “Fine, how much do you want for it?” The man just grinned at him. “How much will you take for the dog?” Victor raised his voice. 

“Get that bitch to give me the dog or I will.” 

Victor had reached the end of his rope. He ran a hand through his hair. He would try reasoning with the man one more time. Suddenly, he heard a whistle. It was a constable’s.

“Make way, please. What seems to be going on?”

A bobby stood between him and the man whose grin now covered his entire face. The constable looked down at Solange as if she belonged in a mental institute.

Victor made sure to speak first. “I’m sorry officer. My patient is not-“

“Belongs in a nuthouse” rejoined the man. Claps were heard throughout the growing throng . Victor stepped toward the dogcatcher, but the policeman halted him.   
“The bitch has stolen my goods.”

“She hasn’t stolen anything. She’s just…” But what could he call it? Requisitioned? 

“Listen, officer, my job is to catch dogs. I get paid for each one and that little bitch-“

“Language, please” the constable scolded.

“That nutter has stolen it and what’s more, she’s cursed at me.”

“Is this true?” the policeman asked Victor.

“Yes, but I’ve tried to pay the man for it. We’ll keep the dog, I promise. She isn’t well.” The constable was opening his mouth Victor thought to perhaps take their side,   
but then Solange spoke from her place on the ground.

She yelled at the dogcatcher between tears, “Tu es un batard!” In a blink of an eye, Solange put the still muzzled dog on the ground, before standing and slapping the dogcatcher across the face. “Tu es un monstre!” 

Victor grabbed Solange around the waist, pulling her back before the man’s fist made contact with her nose. Victor felt ill as he noticed that there was blood on the man’s face. Had she really slapped him that hard? Then Victor realized there was blood all over Solange’s fingers and spots of it dotting her dress. She pushed Victor away while the constable was looking over the man’s face to see if any true harm had come to it. Without regard for the injured man, Solange picked the dog up again,still intent upon getting the muzzle off. Victor tried to go to her, but the constable pushed him aside. 

“Alright, miss, give the dog to me.” Solange turned around and shook her head, holding the dog tighter. The police officer had reached his limit, Dr. Frankenstein could see. “Give me the dog.”

“Solange,” Victor said coming beside her, “donne-lui le chein.” He tried to say it temperately. But she shook her head again. “Solange!”

The constable was done waiting and reached over to grab the dog. Victor could hardly believe his eyes: Solange spit in the constable’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, Victor saw the constable reach for his stick. Quickly, Victor wrestled with Solange for the dog. It whimpered loudly, but finally he retrieved it. Out of breath, he gave it to the constable. Solange tried to get it back, but Victor stepped in front of her as the whimpering animal was put inside the cage.

Under order from the constable, the crowd dispersed. Amidst the dwindling crowd, the policeman warned Victor that next time, Solange would be sent away.   
Victor’s rage was such that he could not bear it. He grabbed his creation’s wrist and pulled her away, quickly marching up the long flight of stairs. He yanked the door open and pushed her in, slammed the door and locked it.

“What were you thinking? My God! What could have possessed you?” he yelled unrelenting. Solange tried to push past him to the door, but Victor remained steady, unmoving. She’d have to injure him to venture outside. When she realized this, Solange glared at him with vehement hatred and ran to her room. In need of rest,Victor slid down the wall. 

When Victor’s head finally cleared, he heard her; heard her crying in her room. He felt a stab of regret. Of course her door was locked and she refused to open it. The day passed like that. There would be quiet followed by the sound of her crying again. Victor’s entreaties for her to come out or let him in went unnoticed.

It wasn’t until very late at night that she came out. She looked horrendous. Her face still fixed with anger and hatred. She did not speak, but handed him a piece of paper and went to her desk. With much banging about she got out her notebooks and ink and began connotating various verbs.

Victor opened the folded paper. There were smudges of blood on it and he glanced over at his charge’s fingers. She had not yet washed them. He once again gazed down at the letter. It had been written painstakingly. He could tell for her handwriting was not normally this nice.   
"Je tu déteste. Tu es un coward. Pourquoi tu créer moi?"

Unable to stop his scientific reaction, he realized he would need to make note of how she could not remember the French for coward and had misused a reflexive pronoun. He then heard a sob and looked up. Solange was sitting at the table crying as a child would. He went to her, taking a seat beside her.

Victor had improved upon knowing what to do in these circumstances, but he still felt strange. He had a sudden thought. “What would Ethan do?” He remembered Ethan gently taking Vanessa’s hand or embracing her. Victor put his hand on Solange’s upper back and began trying to comfort her. 

“Solange, Solange” he began too formally. He tried again and this time he found her responsive. “Je suis desole. Je n’aurais pas du crier a tu. C’est-“

“Tu pense que je suis en colore parce que tu crier a moi?” She looked at him in confusion. Victor was at a loss.

“What…quoi est la raison?”

“Le chien” she responded exasperated. Victor sighed, he bit his tongue to control his temper.

“Je vais acheter un chien pour tu.” She looked at him as if she were disappointed. “Demain.”

“Tu ne comprend pas moi. Il va détruire le, non?” 

He felt more compassion towards her now. “On ne peut pas sauver tous vie, Solange.” 

“Pourquoi pas?” Victor smiled at that. What a question to ask. How to even begin, but it seemed she knew he could not answer it.

“Il faut que nous dormir.” He said stroking her back for the final time. She let him help her to bed. 

“Tu pense que je suis stupide, non?” she asked. 

From the doorway, Victor replied. “Non, Solange. Je suis stupid. Bien noite.”

For Victor, this nightly ritual was often a test of will, for yes, it would be so easy to get into her bed. No, Solange did not hold the same attraction for him as did Lily.   
Yes, that was partly from his own will and a lesson learned, but she did not have the sort of looks he had come to admire in a woman, rightly or wrongly. She was too tall for him. Actually, they were just about the same height. Her skin was not pleasingly pale or gloriously golden. She would’ve looked strange as a blonde. All these things taken together, however, did not secure him from those looming thoughts. At times, he could feel the press of thing against his pants as he sat near or looked at Solange. 

Early on in her new life, before she had had any clothes besides a night dress and a tunic, she had come downstairs in Victor’s clothes. Rather, she was trying to wear his clothes. His shirt fit snuggly at her breasts and was almost see-through there. The top three buttons were undone, displaying cleavage. She wore his vest completely unbuttoned. His pants were too tight around her hips and bottom. She had been so proud that she had dressed herself; so happy that she was in real clothes as Victor was. He had had to instruct her how men and women wore different clothes. She asked why and Victor had a horrible moment of deja vu. He remembered Lily asking him why women wore corsets and high shoes. He would not give that response. Instead, he opted for asking her if she were comfortable in his pants or his shirt and if she had been able to button the vest. With his hands he gestured how his body’s shape was relatively like a stick or a triangle and then how hers curved in and out. She was embarrassed and he promised to buy her a new dress. When she made her way back up the stairs, Victor realized that state of himself from talking about their bodies’ differences and being unable to resist looking at the shirt’s parting.


	9. August 1899, part iii

And he thought as he sat looking over his notebook, would Solange run out in her nightgown to yell at a man for hurting a dog or any animal? Yes, she would, he answered silently. She had learned better though how to communicate. She would’ve known to not insult the man and not react so violently.

Frankenstein heard someone clear their throat and looked up. It was Miss Hudson, the housekeeper. With forced levity and politeness, he began, “Oh good, Miss Hudson, I wanted to tell you that there is another person staying. A friend of mine. His name is John Clare. I hope-“

“Yes, I know there’s another man here. He’s staying in the room across from yours. There isn’t a thing about this house I don’t know.” Victor winced. She was severe. “I came to talk to you about Ms. Solange.” 

Victor cringed. “Has she been opening too many windows or been bringing birds into the house again?”

“No.” Victor exhaled in relief. “Far worse.” Miss Hudson met Victor's look of perplexity with her own stern one. “She’s made the house into a charity hall. Every morning there’s a line of children that wait at one part of the beach who wait for her for her to give them food.”

“Well, it sounds like she’s made a charity beach.” he tried to jest.

“They come to the house as well with their grubby little hands and feet at all hours of the day asking for food. They tell their friends.”

“Ms. Hudson, I’m sure you’re over-exaggerating.”

“I’m not. You know what she does every Thursday? She brings them here. It doesn’t matter how many. She brings them here to do plays and puppet shows and play the piano. Last week there were 10 of them, but the week before that there were 30. Several of Sir Malcolm’s things have gone missing on account of these urchins and she doesn’t let us call the constable.” 

Victor ran his hand through his hair. “I will talk with her. I promise.” 

“Also,” Ms. Hudson continued, “She invites strangers over who she meets on her walks. Last week she met some old fishermen and they came over in their slickers.”

There was the problem. The continued innocence. She was a genuine person and she enjoyed getting to know people. She was never cruel or intentionally careless. She wasn’t flighty either. In fact, he suspected that after all those children were gone, she cleaned up the messes they’d made.

She wasn’t innocent about being created, however. She knew. She knew that she was made and was different and the sense was she didn’t like it. This creating of new beings was a process of new discoveries and Victor supposed that was why he was so intrigued. With John he had not had a steady hand and had created an unbalanced creature. With Proteus, he had succeeded in making in part what he envisioned, but his second born was not strong enough. With Lily…with Lily, he had made her too strong and somehow she had become cruel. Of course, time had yet to tell with Solange. She was strong, but he had endeavored to make her not overly strong, and when the time had come, he had told her that she was a creation. 

Victor rubbed his temples as he continued to look over the facts and figures that Sir Malcolm had asked him to investigate. He heard the French doors in the foyer open and close. 

“Victor? Victor?” Solange called. He braced himself to reprimand her. 

“In the dining room, Solange.  
”  
“Are you having breakfast?” she asked slightly teasingly when she came in. Yes, Victor didn’t eat often especially in the morning.

“Only some coffee.” he said officiously. “Did you enjoy your walk?” He kept arranging his papers. 

“Yes, there were so many seagulls on the beach today.” 

One of the other servants came in with toast and a sliced apple and set it in front of Solange who adjusted herself to sitting more properly. She was tall like Ms. Ives and had a dark complexion. The olive in her skin exposed her foreign roots. Solange’s body was perhaps less slim than Ms. Ives. Her legs seemed to go on forever. Ms. Ives said that in a way Solange reminded her of herself when she was young; when you were a tall woman you barely knew what to do with your extremities. 

“You are upset with me” Solange said factually.

“No, yes, rather Ms. Hudson is upset with you.”

“You mean about the children, yes?”

“Yes, Solange” he looked at her weary. “If you know it bothers Ms. Hudson, then why do you do it?” 

She responded desperately, “Because there is no one else here to be with. Because why shouldn’t this house be filled with the laughter of children instead of the ticking of clocks? It is like a tomb here sometimes.” She was fighting against his criticism but he knew she would not simply throw it into the wind. 

“Well, you could be getting on with your studies. I looked through your desk and you’ve barely made any headway with your translations.” Solange opened her mouth to protest. “Now, it’s supposed to rain for the next 4 days, so you can concentrate on that.” She accepted it and continued her breakfast in silence. Now to broach the other subject. “A friend of mine has joined me this time. His name is John Clare” he was trying to sound detached, but he wondered if he was succeeding. “You might have occasion to run into him. If you do…don;t be alarmed by his appearance. He can’t help it.” Solange looked at him curiously but did not ask any questions. 

_________________  
Later, when Victor came upstairs, he found Caliban in his room.

“Tell me more about her” he asked of his creator almost immediately.

Victor did not like his demanding tone. “Well, she’s 5 foot 8 and has brown hair that is-“

“Why do you tease me, demon?” Caliban stood fuming.

“What do you expect me to do when you demand me to answer such a vague request?”

“You know what I wish to know. What is her personality? Her character?”

Victor breathed in thinking of how Solange was. “You mean compared to Rose’s?”

“Yes, if you must.”

Victor smiled at that. If he must. “From what I gathered about Rose, she was a quiet, passive, religious, helpful, and dutiful soul, who would suffer in silence for fear of creating conflict.” He thought of the diary he had amongst his things in London. How revealing and tragic it had been. “She was a good friend to those fortunate enough to have that title. Is that not a correct assessment?”

“A surmised one, yes.”

“Solange still remains generous and giving” Victor thought of the events that had just passed downstairs. “But she is more passionate and driven I believe…Perhaps, restless in this house. I do not think she is dutiful, though she is loyal and takes one’s critiques quite personally…I think…” Victor stopped himself, but John bid him to continue. “I think she knows something of her own strength and that there is graveness to her which has yet to be fully realized…And I believe that her grace and poise sometimes are merely means to hide the fierceness she has within her…There, I believe I have measured her correctly. Is that what you wanted?” He did not know why he spoke to John in such a manner. Perhaps it was that his first born still had the ability to torture him. He began more gently, “Why do you not go down and meet her for yourself?”

“You know why.” It was so earnestly said that Victor felt pity for him. For how horrible it was for a man to be unable to speak eloquently and with confidence to a woman. How did he, Victor, or his creature go on living when it seemed that life’s greatest hunger seemed completely out of reach for them. The titanic, as Caliban had aptly called it.


	10. August 1899, part iv

Caliban did not come down and Solange stayed inside doing the translation work Victor had set out for her months ago. After dinner, Victor sat with her. He was gladdened by how far she had gotten, though her hand writing was still poor.

“Ou est ton ami?” 

“He isn’t feeling well at present. He had a long boat trip before coming” Victor said offhandedly, taking her notebook up, scanning it for errors. He dipped his pen into the red inkwell. His speech was detached as he showed Solange each error she had made. He went through pages and pages until he came to the last. As he blew on the ink to dry it more quickly, he said, “Now, I think you should rewrite today’s work, but this time try to make your handwriting more…legible. I’ve seen you paint. You’re fully capable of the fine motor skills it requires.” With that he closed the notebook and smiled at her. His smile quickly disappeared, however. Solange’s shoulders were slumped and expression demoralized. He tried to start kindly, “You should go to bed. You did a hard day’s work. Your mind requires rest.” His cheery tone sounded odd even to him.

She picked up the notebook and opened it and retrieved another from the desk as to start again.

“Solange, you needn’t…” Victor started. But silently Solange dipped her pen and began. She was set on her purpose he knew. So he left her and went upstairs.   
Caliban’s door was closed and Victor gathered there he would stay. How strange that creator and creation should share a fear of the fairer sex.

When he awoke the next morning, Frankenstein found Solange still at the translations. 

“Did you not go to bed?” he said looking over her current page. 

“After the clock struck six it seemed futile to.” She smiled and stood. He noticed what a mess her hair was and the state of her hands, covered in ink. 

“I will have Ms. Hudson draw you a bath.”

“No, there is not time. Mr. Klesmer will arrive in an hour.” Ahh, yes. Victor had forgotten Solange’s music lessons. She excelled at it more than reading or writing.   
Actually, she was quite good. He had noted how despite never having played piano in her former life and only having little training, she was actually quite talented. It was something to think about. 

She left him in the room and Victor watched her as she went. He wondered how much of their conversations John could hear or listened for. Having no wish to be social, Victor returned to his rooms. From his study, Victor overheard the tutor’s carriage arrive, then muffled talking between the man and his pupil. Scales followed by a rather uninspired playing of “Fur Elise” ensued. The tinkling of keys soon changed. Throughout the house could be heard a more inspired, but less skillfully played Chopin composition. Victor thanked God when the tutor decided to perform the Impromptu himself. The lull of the music coming from downstairs combined with falling of rain against the window. 

After three hours, no longer able to occupy himself, Victor checked his appearance and descended the staircase. 

“How long have her piano lessons become?” Victor asked himself as he went downstairs. He listened carefully to the music being played. Whatever piece the tutor was playing was new to the doctor. It made the listener feel as if in a dream or drifting and tumbling through clouds. Victor’s knowledge of music, he knew, was lacking. One only had so much time in the day and he had never felt a strong connection with music as he had with poetry or anatomy. Mozart had held a special place for him with his precise, almost mathematical notes, though. He could tell, however, that this was certainly not Mozart and neither was it the ferocious Beethoven. The song was delicately played and Victor fully expected to see Mr. Klesmer in a trance as he performed.

This was not so for upon entering the room, Victor saw that Mr. Klesmer was seated reading a newspaper while partaking in the midday meal. The tutor looked up when he heard Victor’s shoes on the floor.

“Ah, Dr. Frankenstein, how pleased I am to see you” he stood and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Mr. Klesmer,” Victor began still marred in confusion, looking toward the parlor.

“Yes, I see you are wondering how it is not me playing.” The old man smiled at him. “Perhaps I have brought a scientific contraption with me, one of those great spinning cylinders that will replace all musicians one day.” Mr. Klesmer’s hands mimicked the turn of the device. 

“Yes,” replied Victor uneasily. The piano teacher was eccentric, a continental. “A phonograph.”

Mr. Klesmer smiled at him and chuckled. “You surprise me. Such a unique man of science and biology and no belief in the astounding.” Victor looked at the man with narrowed brows.

“Do you mean to say that is Ms. Solange playing?”

“Yes, do not look so shocked. She is a most unique individual.”

Victor shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I just I…”

“You heard her playing Beethoven and Chopin rather badly” Klesmer smiled knowingly “Yes, it is hard to be inspired by that sentimental tune of the beast and in regards to Chopin that was more of a finger exercise than anything else. Please, sit down and join me.”

The two sat and Victor served himself some of the roasted chicken. “She progresses then?” Victor asked.

“Progresses? Dr. Frankenstein, have you ever attempted to play a musical instrument?”

“No, I confess I haven’t.”

“Ms. Solange is an apt pupil and has progressed faster than any student I’ve ever taught, excluding a protege, but the less said about him the better” he praised. He continued more evenly, “Her technique I’ll admit is not always correct, but her memory - physical and mental - and her passion when playing are…” Klesmer searched for the word.

“Exemplary” Victor replied.

“Extraordinary” Klesmer corrected him. Victor smiled. For some reason, Klesmer’s enthusiasm was off-putting. Should Victor not have been proud that his creation had such skill? Should he not have exalted her? Should he not have been excited to record this in his notes?

The meal continued in silence, only Solange’s continued playing of the dreamlike piece filling it. Finally, Victor bid the tutor adieu and went upstairs. Klesmer made him uneasy for the older man always seemed to be assessing him as if her were a strange object. Not long after, the tutor left, the music desisted. 

Victor had forgotten how simultaneously dull and wonderful the countryside could be. It was an adjustment to accustom oneself to the quiet. Moreover, he didn’t have all his tools with him and no great occupation to set himself to. Yes, he was assisting Sir Malcolm with some work, but it did not engage his mind fully. He remembered the papers he had read a few months ago by a young doctor in Switzerland. Dr. Jung. Apparently, he was in the same medical field as Freud. The science of the workings of the brain. What would happen he wondered if he made any of his creations lie on a couch facing away and simply talk with no vocal judgements passing from him? 

Feeling useless, Victor went to the abandoned conservatoire to see if any of Ms. Ives or Solange’s attempts of reviving some of the plants had worked. As he passed by many emptied pots, he saw that a few of the flowers were thriving, but not many. He began examining the roses. They were a new breed that’d been developed on the continent. There was much to learn from these approaches used in botany. 

Suddenly, the sound of shoes scuffing the ground came from the entryway. It was Caliban, standing as menacing before, still wearing that ridiculous trench coat. John’s yellow eyes searched the room,. Victor gathered he was imagining what a wonder this room must have been before in the house’s golden age.

“So you’ve come out of your cave?” Victor began.

“Why did you bring me here? What do you expect me to do? Do you wish me to befriend her or to try and woo her? Or do you hope that she will turn me away? What is your point creator?” 

Victor looked at him sincerely. “In a way, I hope all of those outcomes are true. I don’t know why I brought you here or what I expect. Perhaps…perhaps I merely wish to see how two such unique creatures will regard each other. Perhaps it is all just an experiment in biological and psychological science. After all, why did I create her or you or-” he cut himself off and turned around.

Silence filled the room until John began firmly, “I will sup with you and her tomorrow night. So you might warn the servants of my appearance if you haven’t already.” With that the creature left.Victor sighed loudly, but he couldn’t complain could he? He himself had born this situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole Herr Klesmer from George Elliot's Daniel Deronda.


	11. August 1899, part v

Despite the imminent rain, Solange had taken her morning walk, giving Victor some respite and time to speak to John. He found his first born in a state of anxiety. John’s clothes were not of the sort one wore to dinner in a house such as this. However, none of them stood on ceremony when Sir Malcolm or Ms. Ives were absent. Victor did not change for every meal - who, frankly, had the time for such diversions? - and Solange would change from a morning to evening dress sometimes, but few of her clothes were haute couture. 

Victor saw though that his creation’s wardrobe did present a challenge for the clothes were too old and rough looking for him to introduce himself in. He certainly couldn’t wear his trench coat around the house. Neither was it possible for the two men to exchange clothes. Victor was so slim in the hips and legs, not to mention inches shorter than the creature. If they were in London, he could visit a haberdashery or buy some ready made trousers and shirts, but as it stood, this was impossible.   
Despair engrossed the creature for while he had not allowed his heart or mind to build such hopes as he had with Lily, the import of meeting her could not be denied. Over the last few days, with joy his body remembered the feel of Rose. Yes, she had turned him away, but Caliban was not naive enough now to blame her for it. How old had she been? Fifteen. And here he was a misshapen beast asking the world of her. He had abused her friendship and who knew how she suffered after he’d gone.   
The solution was discovered when Victor with emboldened bravery asked Ms. Hudson. She was shocked and slightly disgusted with his request, but she produced some men’s clothing that had belonged to a stableman who had lived here when the house was still filled with people. Victor had had to hem the clothes for the stable man was even taller than Caliban. The suit was perhaps a bit dated, but had been kept in relatively good condition. 

With John fitted, they went downstairs. Yes, as expected the servants first reactions to him were shock and fear, but Victor thanked God that Caliban had improved upon introductions. He could tell Ms. Hudson certainly did not approve. They sat in the study each listening for sounds of footsteps or the opening of doors. The creature clearly was still ill at ease, Victor noted. Finally, they heard the French doors opening. Both heads perked up. Caliban looked longingly at the study door. Solange’s voice was audible as she requested some tea in the parlour. However, Victor and John’s faces soon darkened when they heard another voice. It was a man’s.

The two men cloistered in the study listened carefully. Perhaps it was one of those strangers Ms. Hudson talked of, but Victor sensed the middle-aged woman would have come in here to reprimand him if it had been so. As the man beyond the door spoke again, Victor could tell by his accent that he was French. Holding a finger to his lips, Victor quietly walked to the door to eavesdrop. 

“And you know what my mother say to that? She say he was correct! Correct! I should get a job at his business! Imagine me work with numbers and wake at 8! My mother crazy! I know what you say. Return to France and work. I tried so many with him. I take him to see Monet gallery and he only say he don’t like the colors! He ask why men don’t paint like Constable now. Can you see it? Everyone painting the…the…”

“Watermills” Solange corrected.

“Oui, the watermills and the horses and the boats. I despair him. His head…it’s…And to this my mother, who patroned Manet and Lautrec. She say nothing! It is..it is…insupportable. But you are correct. I move to Paris. I do my painting. I live similar to a bohemian. And, I move to France, no more speak English. No more English food. C’est benediction! You will move with me, non?…Porquoi pas? Tu vas l’adorer. Nous serons bohemians! Nous marierons. Ma mere t’adorera. C’est vrai!” 

Victor’s eyes met John’s whose own looked set on hatred. The doctor could not take anymore of this. Hastily Victor let himself out being careful to close the door. Upon entering the parlor, Victor finally laid eyes on the apparent potential suitor. This man was stood by the mantelpiece looking at Victor surprised, while Solange was seated at her desk. Hearing Victor’s sharp breaths, she looked up.

“Victor, this is Luc Cassel.” Victor did not bother smiling or shaking the man’s outstretched hand. Rather, the doctor looked the man over. This Luc did not look a dandy, but he had a suaveness and privilege to him that Victor was not fond of. Victor did not trust him.

“Is my hair mess?” Luc laughed nervously. Victor didn’t say anything. Yes, the man’s dark hair was a mess by normal standards. Perhaps the more naturalistic and wild hairstyle combined with the man’s simply, clean-cut yet well-tailored tan suit was meant to indicate that he was a subscriber to the newer forms of painting. This is now what troubled the doctor.

“He is an acquaintance of Ms. Ives and a painter,” Solange said coming to stand between the two men. 

“I think that I am a painter, at least” Paul corrected. “I go. I think that my mother have the new reprimand for me. A bien tot, ma cherie.” Before departing, Luc gave Solange three kisses on her cheeks before he bowed to Victor.

Before Solange could speak, Victor began, “Solange, you cannot just bring people - men - into this house.”

“You were very rude to him.”

“He spoke to you of marriage, can you deny that?” he asked soberly. 

“It was a joke. He did not-“

“Solange,” he began detachedly, “You are still very naive in these matters. Perhaps this man was just…but other men may not and your denial of it will not aid the situation.” He looked at Solange, but was unable to read her face. She wasn’t crying or pouting. Still there was something about the eyes gazing at him that disquieted Victor. He tried to begin more cheerily, “My friend will be joining us for dinner tonight. You will like him, I think.” 

Whatever ill-temper she had, she swallowed it. “I look forward to meeting him. Mr. Charles will be here soon.”

“Who is that?”

“He teaches me voice lessons.”

Victor bit his tongue before he could say, “No wonder your work doesn’t progress.” Instead he commented, “Well, then I’ll leave you to it.” 

Victor found himself in need of a walk. Anger rose inside of him. Solange frustrated him so. He could not understand her. 

“You should not speak to her as you do” came a voice behind him.

Victor turned round to discover the monster only a step behind him.

“Is that a threat?” Victor asked looking into his first born’s eyes.

“No,” Caliban said continuing to walk. “It is a piece of cautionary advice.”

Victor could only guffaw. “How would you suggest I speak to her? She is not a new born.”

Caliban halted, “You will drive her away. I doubt you need be so severe.”

Victor only shook his head at his monster and continued to walk down the sandy beach.

“What a terrible father you would’ve made” Caliban called from behind him. Victor stopped. “What a truly selfish father you would have been. Your expectations, your distance, your dismissiveness, your reserve, how terrible they would’ve been for a child.”

He wouldn’t turn around and engage with his creation. He would not give Caliban the satisfaction. 

“Think upon it for there are plenty of evil forces to draw her away” John called out before walking back toward the house. 

Victor stood on the beach alone. He considered what his firstborn had said. “Yes, I have been a good teacher, perhaps, but perhaps I have been too harsh on Solange. I have tried not to be, but I found our dispositions so at odds.” Victor’s thoughts turned to Proteus. The doctor remembered when he had taken Proteus around London. Victor remembered how before Proteus’ untimely and savage death, his second born had declared that he would have many friends. “Yes, I dismissed some of his enthusiasm, but life is a struggle and it was better to learn that sooner than later.” However, Victor though he would take his first born’s words to heart, though he didn’t wish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French is not my native language and I only studied it for awhile in high school, so please comment if the grammar, spelling, word structure, etc is off.   
> Also, for whatever reason, in my mind Luc is portrayed by Romain Duris.


	12. August 1899, part vi

When Victor returned to the house, a middle-aged man with greying temples was putting on his things to leave.

“Hello, I’m Mr. Charles,” the man said, extending a hand. Victor took it.

“Victor Frankenstein.” The man must have been in his 40s and from Scotland it seemed. Victor was secretely pleased that the man was neither foreign, young, or attractive.

“You are Ms. Solange’s relation, yes? Her benefactor of sorts, as well?” Victor assented. “Well you should be pleased to know she makes much headway in the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas.” 

“Oh, good” Victor said awkwardly. He did not know what to make of this compliment. To what end would learning songs from the “Mikado” go?

“I can see that you perhaps don’t think so highly of this kind of theatre” Victor attempted to intercede. “But a bird cannot soar without testing its wings first. It is the same with singing. If Ms. Solange continues her music lessons, then one day she will be able to aspire to greater material.”

“Yes, of course” Victor said. The two men said their goodbyes and Victor went to find Solange to apologize, but also ensure that she would be getting dressed soon.   
After several light knocks on her door, she let him in.

On her bed lay 3 dresses. She seemed distant from him and distracted. “Which one do you think I should wear?” she asked emptily.

Victor winced. “Solange, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so rude to your friend and so severe on you” he said it with a smile in hopes of lighting her spirits. “I worry about you so. You’re…” the doctor struggled to go on. Solange turned her face from him. He felt so unequal to the task. How were men meant to speak to women? “Can we not be friends?” She gave him a small smile and returned her gaze to the dresses.

Looking over the clothes, Victor thought of what his first born would think. It certainly couldn’t be anything too stimulating, but in his mind, Victor automatically discarded the white one. Too many still poignant memories were associated with the color. Certainly not the black one. He had reason to suspect Ms. Ives had chosen that one. The choice came back to, what did he hope this meeting would accomplish? Did he want the creature to pine for her as she had been before or be astonished at and awed by the revived? Did Victor want to foster friendship, love, or contempt? He looked at the rather dull grey one. 

“Don’t you, don’t you have a pink one?”

She looked at him with apprehension and went to her wardrobe. She pulled out an all too bright pink dress with black lacing and puffy sleeves. 

“This one?” she asked unsure, holding it up for him. He assented awkwardly for he could see some of her intimates in the open armoire. She bit her lip and nodded. 

“Of course, if you don’t want to, the grey would suit as well.” he tried saying kindly.

“No, the pink is” she raised her eyebrow in search of the word, “colorful. I will be ready as soon as I can.”

Victor bowed and left rubbing his temples feeling like an imbecile.


	13. August 1899, part vii

It was a nervous next few hours for Victor. After he’d gotten dressed, the creature stealthily knocked on his door. He was in a panic. The prospect was too great for him and he paced about the room, driving Victor to distraction. 

They both stole downstairs and sat at the table. John insisted on sitting in the middle with Victor on his left so that the scar would remain largely hidden. The clock struck and Solange did not come. John was ringing his strong hands together. They waited another fifteen minutes before Victor had cause to ask a servant to ask mademoiselle to come down. Time passed and the servant returned saying that the lady did not feel well. 

Confusion grabbed hold of Victor for his creations, he well knew, could not feel physically unwell with colds and headaches. The only reason for sleep for them was respite of the mind and heart. The servant was dismissed.

“She does not come because of me,” John stated soberly.

“No, that’s not it.”

“What do you think it is then? You above all others, creator, know well of our strength.”

“Keep your voice down,” Victor hissed. “She is displeased with me perhaps.” The two males exchanged looks. “I will go speak with her.” 

Frustration charged from the doctor. This sort of pettiness was unlike Solange and it was embarrassing.

Could she have espied John? Been scared by his scars? He excused himself and went upstairs. Solange did not reply to his knocks or entreaties. It was odd for her to be so quiet; this was uncharacteristic. He quietly went to Ms. Hudson as to not alarm John and asked for the house’s skeleton key. At first, the woman refused to give it to him at first, but after many requests finally relented. Victor hoped the monster would not see what was occurring. It appeared no one heeded what Victor demanded.   
After a final bequest and warning, Victor opened the door to Solange’s room. When he did so, a blast of cold wind shocked him. The windows were open. “Solange, Solange,” he called through the empty room. He carefully opened the bathroom door and to his distress, did not find her there. What had happened to her? With dread he ran his hands through his hair. Then he saw that pink dress on the bed. It was not nicely laid out. Rather the garment had been thrown on the bed in a heap. Victor’s eyes caught something. At the window’s apron, there some sort of white cloth waving in the wind. 

Looking down from the window, Victor saw that bedsheets had been tied together as to make an escape rope. Victor groaned, hardly knowing what to do with himself.   
Should he follow her or would that only anger her?

“She has gone” a voice came from behind him. Victor jumped, but did not bother to look back at his firstborn. “You should look for her.”

“She will be back” Victor said trying to sound disinterested.

Caliban turned him round and picked him up by his shirt. “You will go look for her and I will help you for I doubt you are capable of tracking.” The monster let him down and Victor readjusted his clothes. Downstairs he put on his coat and the two men set off, leaving confused servants in their wake. 

As the men made their way to the beach, Victor called out to Caliban, who was feet away from him, “We have not yet checked the stables. She may be there.” All sides of Victor were being set upon by the wind and he prayed that the rain would continue to stave off. The wind had no effect on the creature thought. As straight as a stick, he strode past Victor who had to ran to keep pace with the creature’s steps. Caliban waited for him to search the stable, but she was nowhere in sight.  
Caliban walked toward the beach with purpose. He stopped and Victor joined him out of breath. His eyes glowed in the dark and Victor became fearful.

“Look, footprints. She has gone this way.” Caliban pointed to the left and before Victor could say anything, the creature charged ahead. He fought hard to fall into step with John. The prints suddenly took a turn into a grotto. Caliban stopped feeling Victor’s outstretched arm.

Completely out of breath, Victor began, “What are you going to do?” he was desperate. Caliban’s countenance made him believe his monster intended the worst. Caliban tried to move forward, but Victor stepped in front of him. “Please, please do not hurt her. Even if she recoils from you or is…is cruel. Please, please, John.”   
Only the wind could be heard and Victor saw that the monster in John’s soul had been tempered. 

“I do not mean to injure her. I wish to see her, nothing more” the creature responded humbled.

Victor sighed relief and gathered his breath before he entered the grotto. He held the lantern high and scanned the cave. He called out her name, but no reply came. Only the wind outside, his own echo, and the mysterious sounds of cave could be heard. He turned around. Caliban had remained at the entrance.

“She is not here.” Suddenly, a crack of thunder and lightening filled the sky. Rain beat down upon the sand. Victor sighed loudly. 

“You return to the house. I will continue searching. The rain can do nothing to me.”

Victor eyed him wearily. 

“I will not harm her. I will ensure she returns home safely.” Victor glanced back inside the cave and then at the rain pouring down. He assented, but not before he looked into the creatures glowing eyes.

“Please, remember, John, if she isn’t yours now, you have a whole eternity to change her mind.” 

John’s eyes widened with understanding. He watched his creator head back towards the house, but did not move. Instead, he crouched down in a shadow and waited. In a minute he heard a gasp for breath and water splashing. It came from the pond in the cave, as John knew it would. He heard her taking deep breaths. They had searched the cave for five minutes at least. The tracks had run many different directions, but Victor had been unable to see how the tracks led to the pond. John had not looked at the pool directly, but searched around it; after all, he didn’t want to stop her from coming up. And yes, as he’d suspected, she’d been hiding beneath the water. 

Solange coughed a few times and then John heard it, the attempt to cry silent tears. His position hid him from the lightening emanating from the sky, but she was not so lucky. The lightening illuminated her body. She had curled herself into a ball, her head buried in her knees. Caliban saw she was wearing nothing but her chemise. His heart stopped and he gazed longingly. For was he not suppose to look at her so? Look at her with no reserve? Look at her whilst imagining running his hands over her every body part? He noticed that she was not shivering. She should have been if she were mortal. Indeed, she would’ve died under that water if it were not for her new strength. He considered stalking out of the cave before she became more cognizant, but when he moved she looked up, directly at him.   
Their eyes met and the ever enclosing lightening flashed across the sky, illuminating Caliban’s features. She did not scream or cry for help. Her sense of unease was palpable, however. Without taking her eyes from him, she scooted back from him a hair.

“Why does she not scream? Does she…could she….could she remember me? Has she led me to a cave to show me she remembers?” Caliban’s heart felt about to burst for what joy that would be. He felt himself being inspected and he instinctually hid his scar with his collar. He thought of calling out Rose, but hesitated. Her eyes remained fixed. It unnerved him. She stood suddenly and he had cause to gasp at her beauty. 

She turned from his face. “We should go back to Victor.” 

Such somberness and distance told Caliban that this other creature did not recollect their time together. What new sorrow was this? A thought passed that he should tell her who she was. He should embrace her. But it was gone when Victor’s words echoed in his mind. 

“You should wear my coat” he stuttered. She looked uncertain but came near him and held out her pale and sturdy arm. Her gaze was direct and watchful as he removed the garment and handed it to her. Then she cast her eyes downwards, thanking him. And so Caliban briefly had a glimpse of the remaining kindness Victor spoke of. The two immortals walked down the beach, Caliban letting Solange go first as he slowed his pace. He wondered if Victor would admonish her.

When she stopped at the french doors, John felt her fear. She glanced back at him, nodded her head as if to thank him, and went to the side of the house. Caliban quickened his pace. He came just in time to see her walking on a thick branch that abutted her window with her arms stretched out as if on a wire. John gasped worried, but she made it safely. He hoped she would smile down on him as if she were Juliet, but she did not. The female creature closed the windows while gazing at the continuing rain clouds. Then the curtains were drawn.

Caliban felt himself close to weeping. For she was still so beautiful and unattainable.

When Caliban entered the house through the French doors, Victor was sitting at the piano, seemingly in despair. He looked up when he heard the doors opening.

“Did you find her?” 

Caliban didn’t know why he lied, but he did. He said she had walked further up the beach. It felt wrong to tell their creator where she hid; perhaps it was a private place. “We had occasion to meet.” Victor looked at him shocked. “She saw me in the lightening. She..she feared me, but assented to take my coat.” 

Victor made to go up the stairs, but Caliban drew him back. “Let her rest. A heart can only take so much in one day.”


	14. September 1899

“Tell me, Creator, how did Rose come to be in London?” Caliban inquired.

Victor considered if he should tell Caliban all he knew of Rose’s life. Would it not be too painful for him? As well, the doctor did not know if he had the heart to talk about Solange. His heart was heavy and he felt regret at having perhaps been too hard on her and leaving her alone in that house.

“She kept a diary” Victor replied finally turning his face to look at the passing scenery. He could feel tears welling. He gulped them down. “You may look at it when we return to London.”

Neither creature nor man spoke for the duration of the return. When they arrived at the doctor’s quarters in London, Victor wearily let them in. 

“Where is this diary?” Caliban demanded.

Victor rubbed his temple. He was exhausted and desolate, but still his first-born demanded of him. “Can you not be patient?”

“I have been patient. For many hours.” 

Victor sneered and went to his locked desk where he kept it. “Here” the doctor said thrusting a slightly dingy brown leathered notebook into the creature’s hands. “Have at it.” Then Victor stormed off to his bed. His wish was that the diary would break his first born’s heart.

Caliban sat and looked at the cover of the diary. Did he have misgivings about reading a collection of private thoughts? Yes, but he had rationalized them during the journey. How else was he to learn how Rose had been after he had left her? 

Cautiously, he opened the first page. The first entry was brief and handwriting very childish. It told of how Ms. Brutwell, Mr. Brutwell’s sister, bought her the diary. Caliban vaguely remembered the name, but could not remember why. 

>   
>  _Ms. Brutwel sais I must lern to rite beter if I ever am emploide_

Caliban turned the pages. The first entries were simply Rose making lists of foods and household items spattered with occasional sentences about how she had done someone’s laundry or had helped Ms. Brutwell in the kitchen. 

These told him nothing of what was happening in her life and Caliban was about to simply flip through the pages until after he turned from her copying of a recipe for apple tarts to an actual substantive entry. It was written with trembling hand and he saw blots on the paper that he deduced were tears. 

> _Father wil come home in 3 days Mr. Brutwell says. I think this wil be the last time I rite for a wile. He keyps the ink locked in his rum. He wud be angry to no I lernd how to read and rite even if I said Ms. Brutwell teached me. I wish he wud stay a way even tho I mis home and the Brutwells can be verry hard._

  
Caliban’s heart ached. He could feel Rose’s fear emanating from the page. He cautiously turned the page. The next entry was dated 2 months later.  


> _Yestrday was Crismas. Father and I went to church then to the Brutwells house. I was verry suprized when Ms. Brutwell handid me a gift.It was the set of ink wels and pens I used this sumer and a neu diary. I was verry happy at first but then I rememberd that Father was there. He loked at the set and askd why I wud nead thos for.Ms. Brutwel said to rite lists. My father said I cant read and laft. I felt my cheeks get verry red. He lokd at me and he sau. Ms. Brutwell said ofcourse she can read a litle and told him that she made me rite lists over the sumer. I sau his face and I neu how angry he was. I bit my tong so that I wud not cri._

The start of the next sentence had apparently been quite difficult for her to write because there were several letters crossed out, as well a small ink stain where her pen had been pressed down while she contemplated how to continue.

>   
>  _Mr. Brutwell stept in. He said that I needed to no how to rite to make mone. He lesend father’s anger until he laft. I thanked him_

Again, there were dots of ink, indicating to Caliban that she had paused to write the next sentence. 

>   
>  _I stil do not feel at ease with him._

Mr. Brutwell. Caliban tried to remember why he knew that name. Perhaps Rose had talked of him. 

The next few entries only spoke of whose laundry she had done or what animal she had seen when caring for the horses. And then Caliban turned to a page that had no writing on it but was dotted with water stains. Water stains no doubt from tears. Caliban felt the stains with his fingers and could imagine Rose sitting at a table weeping. He turned the page and was met with a page where Rose had tried to start again but had ended up crossing out the words and drawing a huge x over the page. Tear drops dotted this page as well. The next 3 pages followed suit. Finally, he reached a page with writing. Caliban gazed over the multitude of words that had been written quickly. She had written so fast that many of the words were smudged and the writing was almost illegible, particularly at the lower half of the page. However, Caliban knew he had to read this page. This would not be an entry about seeing a fox or wondering what it was like to wear lace. This was something truly significant.

>   
>  _Father has shot Avril. The docter came yestrday and told him Avril was verry sick. He said he cud buy medsin for him and mayb that wud halp but father said the medsin was to expnziv. He wud not even considr it even win I said I wud tri to pay for it by takeing in mor work.I hanged on to his clothing and beged. He hit me many times. I trid to stop him but he took him outside the stabl and shot him.  
>  I hate him. I hate him. I wish he were dead. Y did God take my mother and not him. How much betr our lifes wud hav bin.I wil barikad the door tonite. I will not let him come in. He wil hav to kik the door off its hings if he wants me. I wil never forgiv him, I hoop he is retchid.I wud rathr dye than hav him touch me agan. _

John’s heart ached with every line. How often had in those 2 months had he heard and seen Rose talking to the horse and grooming it with utmost affection? It was when she was with the horse that was most free with her speech and thoughts. Caliban stood from the table and tried to imagine the scene, though it grieved him to do so. His mind turned over the lines and they disheartened him so. 

As he stood thinking of how horribly shattered Rose must’ve been, his mind turned to the last few sentences. They had been almost impossible to read and Caliban hadn’t spent much time thinking over their meaning. He slowly went over to the diary and sat down again. He read the last paragraph aloud several times, struggling through her scrawled writing. With each rereading, the words meanings suddenly dawned on him. Anger overtook him. He read the last line again and again, each time his voice getting louder. 

He threw the diary on the floor as if it were the offender. He paced furiously about the room. He thought of going to Victor’s room and waking his creator up and yelling at him. How could he not have told him. But then Caliban looked at the book and knew he wanted to know more. 

Caliban grabbed the book up and slammed it on the table, turning the pages violently. He scanned every page after that, becoming more angry at Rose when she wrote about the river or the weather or some gossip. He was about to slam the book down again in sheer frustration when he came to a page where he saw the word “father” several times. It was dated in March.

>   
>  _Father is finale going on his jornay. I will go liv with the Brutwells agan. I did not think this winter cud be as lung as last winter but I was rong.I do not think my hart can feel anemor. It has becom so num and empte. At church last weak Ms. Brutwel said I hav the most unplezent colar and that I look il. She said I seamd disafekted and that she wud feed me win I staied with them.I wanted to tel her that I did not kar how I lookd and wok away but I just noded. Father will go futhur north this yer. I think that means he wil be gon for longr. I hope he stays away._
> 
> _Last weak after church he went into the sity to by his supliez. He came back with gifts for me. He enterd the house all smiles and I could not tell what he was up to. He pulld me to him and made me sit on his nee. He prodused two boxs from his bag and askd me if I neu wat was inside. His kind words and tone fritened me mor. He drew my hayr back and said I shud smile mor like win I was litl. He askd y I was so cold to him. I tride to escape his grasp but I cud not. He askd do you remembr win I gave you that new hat and ribons you wanted so and you wer so sweet and docile and obedient why are you not anemone and wear is my litl girl. He touchd my cheek as if we wer lovers.He opend the box and got out a corsaj. He pined it to my dress. The other box was filld with chocolates.  
>  It has bin many months since I cride.But I cride in front of him. Y was he trying to be kind win for the past two wintrs he has bin so vilent. The strangenes of it made me so unshur. Win he started being kindr to me win I was youngr it made me a litl happy even tho it ment wat it did. It seemd bettr then being yeled at or ignord or geting a whiping. And then I had to say to the preest and to my father that I had kisd a young man. I was so stupid to hav told them. I shud hav lied about everething not just said I kisd him ons. Or I shud hav told everething I do not think my fathers anger cud be any wors and then I wud not hav lied in confesion. _

The past two winters. Caliban guessed how that had come about. Himself. Could he have ever thought his Rose suffered in such a way? Was it why his own physical adorations of her were rebuffed? He recalled Rose’s almost lifeless face when he would extend affection to her. There was fear, too. How he wished he could go back and force her to come with him, even if she didn’t marry him. 

The next passages were all about the Brutwells, Caliban noted. The passages were written with the same sort of detachedness and frankness. Any glimpses of joy were gone and Caliban longed for her descriptions of wildlife or her musings on what the lives of the various people whose clothes she laundered were. Anything but these mournfully lifeless entries. Furthermore, the increasing appearance of Mr. Brutwell troubled him.

Rose did not seem to like the man instinctually, but due to forced circumstances and the man’s own incessant kindnesses had to allow him some goodwill. Caliban believed he knew what the man’s purpose was. When Rose’s days seemed to become lighter after Mr. Brutwell had purchased a new pup and let the young woman name it and care for it, Caliban became more assured. Even more so when Mr. Brutwell began tutoring her in sums. Rose began to afford the man compliments in her writing, but there was a telling sentence at the end of one entry. From the way the ink stained the paper on the first letter, Caliban inferred that she had thought a while before writing it down, perhaps uncertain.

> _Tho I do wish Mr. Brutwell would not sit so close._

So, that was the game the man was playing. The creature wondered if Rose fully realized it. She clearly was not fully comfortable with him and perhaps she did sense it, his intent. 

In August after some weeks of no entries, Rose wrote,  


> _Father has com home earle. He is very sik. Mr.Brutwel cald the docter for him and got him a nurse, but he is not geting beter._
> 
> _I look bak on wat I rote about wishing him il and I am ashamd. It is wickd to think and write such terible things. He is in great pane. I have never seen him so helpless. He cofs all day and can hardly sleep or eat. He said his sides are on fire. He somtimes has dreams in his wake wear he thinks he sees my mother or thinks he is going to work. His body grows thiner evereday and nothing we do loers his fever. He sometimes thinks that I am my mother and taks to me in French. It is horible to watch.  
>  How wretched I must be to hav riten so many hateful words about him. I cannot remane angry at him wile waching him wast away.He has don many crual things to me but I must hav deservd many of them. The devil inside all of us is to blame. I must enshur his passing is not paneful. I am not a child anemore and I must stop behaveing like it. _
> 
> __

From the next entries, John surmised that her father was indeed dying. Rose’s pity for the man upset him. How could she extend a care for this man? It wasn’t possible. Yet she wrote of sitting with her father all night and attending to every need.


	15. September 1899, part ii

>   
> _Father’s condishun has gotn verry bad. The docter sees no hop for him. Yesterday, he and Mr. Brutwell had me take a wak to talk with a man about his wil. Father let me read it today. Our land belongs to Mr. Andru and that wil go back to hem. But father has £300, August, and his cart to leeve. The wil --_  
>  Father --  
> If -- I must marry Mr. Brutwell to get them. If I do not they all go to him and I wil get nothing.  
> My heart feels verry sik and hevy.
> 
> _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_
> 
> _Father’s desishun wil not be altred. I do not know what I shal do._
> 
> _Father has told me for so many years that I will not mary. That if he shud die, I wud be sent to a convent. He sais that marrying Mr. Brutwel is wat he wants now. He will not lisen to my plees._
> 
> _~~~~~~~~~_
> 
> _Ms. Brutwell visited today. She came with a baskit of food for father and me. Win Father was asleep she talked to me of the marreg. I beleeved she wud be upset. She is so protektiv of her brother and consernd with mony and maners. I was wrong. She verry strongly wants me to mary him. She said that for a yer she had seen how her brother was takeing a fancy to me and she hoped my fathers vu on me marying wud chanj. She remindid me how if I said no I wud have no wear to liv and no mony. She is rite. There is no family I can liv with. I do not no aneone. I wil be completly alone if I refus. If I mary Mr. Brutwell I wil liv beter than I do now. Ms. Brutwel said I wud never hav to take in lundry and that I cud get sevral nu dreses with corsets. She said I cud stop living out here as if I was a jipsy. She is rite. The Brutwells are very froogal with mony but I cud liv verry comfertably._
> 
> _It has bin so many years since I thot I cud get marryd that I do not remembr wat it feels like to want to._
> 
> _~~~~~~~~_
> 
> _Father has died. He went 2 days ago. I am staying with Mrs. Glastonbury.  
>  He asked me to forgiv him and I did. _
> 
> _~~~~~~~~~~_
> 
> _Mr. Brutwell came to speak with me today. He told me he was verry fond of me and likely to be in love with me win I consentd. He says that he deply wants to oner my fathers wish becus they were such clos frends and he feers wat will hapen to me if I do not mary him. He said some of the same things his sister did. He said he nu he was much older then me but that that wud only make him a better husbend._
> 
> _But I can not get out of my hed my first thots of him. He was unplesant to me win I was stil a yung girl. He was verry wachful and suspishus of me. I feard him. He rote to father if he saw or heard me do anething he thot father wud not apruve of. And then he started being kinder to me almost overnite. He wud com home with small gifts for me like an oranj or peece of candy. He did not tel father about me being abel to read or rite. But thise kindnesses were wors then having him be hard. They make me feel akward._
> 
> _Why did father put such a condishun in his will. I do not understand it._

 

Caliban read these entries with anxiety and rage. What was it that made men behave thus? Her father could not have given her a symbol of his guilt by freely giving to her his few possessions? No, he had to make a deal amongst men, virtually selling her to that Mr. Brutwell. He had seen it heading this way. Of course this man saw the opportunity and would take it for himself. And moreover, it was with a heavy, but unsurprised, heart that he read how Rose accepted Mr. Brutwell’s proposal. For what choice did she have?


	16. September 1899, part iii

Over the next few months her entries became distant and factual. She wrote of the things that had to be purchased for the wedding without an ounce of joy. Ms. Brutwell apparently sent her to a woman who was trying to teach her better etiquette. Caliban thought of his sweet Rose who had had not an ounce of rough or displeasing manners learning the forced and countless rules that the middling and upper classes found so important. He could imagine the instructor trying to stifle out the natural charms and unassuming airs of Rose and his heart mourned. 

Slow steps were heard coming from the other room. It was Victor. His sleep had been fitful. Caliban stared at him and he at the journal.

“Where are you in it?” Victor inquired.

“She is marrying him.” Victor nodded. “Tell me, creator, has Solange seen this?”

“No, I think she can remember enough of her own past without her needing to know the whole sorry affair.” 

“If she ever asked to read it, would you let her?”

Victor paused to think. “Yes, if she wanted to” he replied solemnly. “But I hope she does not.” Victor looked on his firstborn and saw he was going to continue reading it. He scanned Caliban’s appearance. He seemed perturbed and, if Victor wasn’t mistaken, had been crying. 

“Why didn’t I go back to see her? Why did I leave her so alone?” John asked himself, pleading, paying no attention to Victor’s presence. “I was so selfish, such a monster. I knew what the world would make of her and I let it.” He turned to face his creator, “Oh, Victor, why? Why did I not rescue her?”

Victor sympathized. He had to give the creature some sense of ease. “Sit down, please” he said beckoning to the table.

“I am barely restraining myself to not run after her to France now, you cannot ask me to sit. My heart is not of stone as yours is” John bitterly replied.

“You think my heart made of stone. I feel the same. I want for more than anything to fly to her and rescue her. I wish I had not been so hard upon her and I wish I had not sent her to live by herself, but I cannot fix this.”

John sneered. “This is what you said to me when we were first reacquainted. You were apologetic but could not alter what had passed. Do you remember? You are pathetic, demon. You are-“

“Yes, I am pathetic” Victor said loudly storming over to Caliban. “I am utterly useless at being a father or a mentor. I do not know how to extend that side of myself. I am unable to temper my addictions and God knows what suffering I have caused. I do not know what I shall do with myself. Should I kill myself and be done with it? Should I let myself enter the madness? Tell me, John!” Victor grabbed onto the creature’s clothes and shook them violently. “Tell me!”   
Caliban stood tall looking down at his creator with a mixture of pity, disgust, and understanding. 

“She has gone just like her. Perhaps she will go to him, too,” Victor whispered, his eyes alight in horror. For a moment, the madness reappeared and Victor saw his world and life go black. 

“We cannot think like that, Victor. Solange has many good friends who have had a good influence on her I think, I hope. She is not like Lily.” Victor’s eyes teared upon hearing the name. John could say Lily was cruel from the start. Did they ever see evidences of even small kindnesses? Being polite to people was one thing, but extending one’s hand was quite another. “I think you were going to tell me the conclusion of Rose’s tale. Please, let’s sit.”

Victor was still shaky and went to his medicine box. He brought it to the table and felt Caliban’s eyes on him as he injected himself with his old companion. The   
creature no doubt thought him weak, but what did he know of such things? How could this being understand the physical pains that so often came with this life?

As the drug began to take affect and calm Victor, he breathed in and out, aware that his first born was being very patient.

“She does not marry him” he finally managed to say with his eyes closed. 

“How does that come about?”

“The night before the wedding, she returned to the cottage to put things in a trousseau chest.” Victor opened his eyes and met his creatures momentarily before sitting forward. “But when…but when she saw his bed, her father’s, she realized she couldn’t.” 

There was a brief pause. “Then what did she do?”

“She took the few things that were hers and ran away in the night. She started looking for milliner and laundress positions but nothing paid well enough to give her secure housing until she ended up in a cotton milling town. She received room and board and a small salary for working there.”

“Until it finally killed her” Caliban scoffed.

“Yes,” Victor nodded mournfully.

“Tell me then if she was so employed, how did she get to London?”

“One day, about a year later, she walked out of work to find Mr. Brutwell standing, waiting for her. He begged her to return with him and fulfill her promise. She   
refused, of course. The next day she was out of a job and living quarters” Victor sneered. “She moved to another textile town and again, in a few months, the same scene occurred. The man was relentless. She made her way south by working in various mills and laundries and was finally pushed by Mr. Brutwell and…and opportunistic employers to come here.”

“Your city. The world’s pitt.”

“Yes, indeed. By the time she got here she was already ill from the byonossis. Already dying. When I saw her on her death bed I wondered at what she possibly meant by childhood sins. How could a woman who looked like her have any? If I had known I would have told her they weren’t her sins and any God who treated them as such wasn’t worthy of her concern.” 

There came a knock upon the outside door, which startled both Victor and John. Victor was not expecting anyone. Indeed anyone who needed him would have been under the illusion that he was in the countryside. He wearily got up and climbed to the top of the lab’s stairs, fixing his attire.

Outside the door, waiting, was a boy with a telegram. “Message, sir, for Mr. Victor Frankenstein.” He took the letter and gave the boy a coin, closing the door.

“Who is it from?” the creature asked from the lab door, causing Victor to jump.

“I don’t know. Perhaps it could be from Solange.”

“Well, open it” the creature replied testily.

“I am” Frankenstein countered. He went to his desk and pulled out a thin knife for the purpose.

> _Dear Victor,  
>  I have received a letter from Solange. Please come see me today at my apartments. Please bring Mr. Clare, as well.  
> Vanessa Ives_

“Who is it from? What does it say?” The monster asked again growing ever impatient.

“It is from Ms. Ives. She wishes us to come see her.”

“Us?”

“Yes.”


	17. September 1899, part iv

The two men walked through the London streets. They made an odd pairing. A lithe, heady young man being followed by a giant, who was set upon obscuring his face. One thing was similar however: their purposeful countenances. 

Ms. Ives resided near Mayfair and the two went from hearing wailing babies being cursed at and horses being whipped to hearing babies in perambulators being cooed at by nannies and the gentle clops of horses driving luxurious coaches. 

Victor wondered what Vanessa knew. The two women, Vanessa and Solange, were friends to be sure and it sometimes made him fearful of what they’d shared in confidence. 

When their presence was announced, Vanessa was sat at her desk composing a letter. With sympathy, she greeted both men, bidding them to sit. She was looking exceptionally fine today and Victor gathered that she’d soon be going on an outing somewhere.

“I’m sorry I haven’t much time to talk, but I knew I had to contact you.” A servant came in with tea. She didn’t jump when seeing John, so accustomed to Ms. Ives’ strange assortment of acquaintances. “Why did you not write to tell me Solange had disappeared?”

Victor sighed, “I was going to. It only happened two days ago and we only just arrived in London.”

“Do you have an idea of where she is?” John asked softly.

Vanessa smiled at him warmly. “Yes, Mr. Clare, she is on her way to Paris.” Vanessa bit her lip. “I was shocked she ran away. When I received her letter telling me, I could scarcely believe it.”

“Letter? Surely, you mean telegram.” Victor questioned perplexed.

“No, letter. She posted it before getting on the boat. I received it this morning.” 

“What does it say?” Victor narrowed his eyes.

Vanessa inhaled, clearly taking her time to decide upon how to respond. “I cannot tell you all that is in it, Victor. You must be aware of that.” 

Victor sighed dejectedly. “I do not wish for you to break the bonds of friendship, Ms. Ives, but please what information you can relay would be most appreciated.” Victor was in earnest and could feel himself beginning to talk wildly.

“You are not the reason Solange left. Either of you.” She paused clearly wondering how to continue on. “Once Solange spoke to me of feeling a war within oneself. Of knowing something deeply, intrinsically, something that cries out for you, wishes to divert one’s whole attention. She said she felt something like that inside herself. That she knew that her life, the way it is now, with the music and reading and language lessons, could not continue forever in the same vein. She said she knew the idleness and innocence of it were not set to last. I told her no one’s life could remain the same. Her response was that she knew she had some purpose in life, a very important one, that tugged at her and that one day she would be unable to hide or run from it. She fears the purpose is one that will devour her.”

“And does she feel this mission to start now?” Caliban inquired.

“No, Mr. Clare, she does not. She is trying to make the most of her own time before she sets upon her task of which neither she nor I comprehend.”  
Victor furrowed his eyebrows. What could it possibly mean and to what end? His mind became engrossed in Vanessa’s words, mulling them over slowly. 

“But what brought about this urgency?” Victor asked still mired in confusion.

“Seeing me” Caliban stated. The two mortals stared at him. “Seeing me brought about this, did it not Ms. Ives?” 

“Yes, I think in a way it did, Mr. Clare” Vanessa responded sympathetically. “I am sorry I cannot tell you more. There is not much more I can tell you anyhow other than   
Solange is safe and is sorry that she left you in such a way.”


	18. September 1899, part v

Caliban departed toward uncharted territory once more. He told Victor he was not going to seek Solange out. Victor knew what John also wished to hear was that the doctor would do the same.

“I will not pursue her until she wishes to see me” Victor conceded, though he did not want to. In his mind, he had already made the decision to not create another being to fill the gap now left. Perhaps Caliban wished to hear that and that was why he delayed his going. However, he could not declare it aloud yet. He opened his mouth to speak, but the creature interrupted.

“Did she ever write of me? Was there ever a mention?” The scarred man asked the question so meekly that it brought attention, once again, to the fact that while the man’s face was deformed, his heart beat as a mortal man’s did.

 

“Yes, she did.”

Caliban gazed at him hopefully.

“When she came to London, she sought you out. She thought she should return Wordsworth to you before she died. She went to the Grand, but was told you’d long since moved on. Victor stood. “You should read it for yourself.” He retrieved the worn diary and flipped through the pages, quickly scanning. Finally he came upon it and gently passed the book to John.

> _I crossd the river today to find him. I went to the theatre he talked about. I think he loved it. I inquired, but no one knew who I spake of until an older gentleman came up. It was the same man who came to the woods all those years ago to search for him and then brought him his books. I recognized him imediatly tho he did not know me. He first thought I was talking in sircles asking for a Caliban. However after a moment he understode. He must be a verry kind man becus he insisted on takeing me to supper. His face when I told him I was unable to was terible and I wish I had been able to just for that._
> 
> _He told me Caliban left many years ago. Not long after he returned. He could not say where he went to ether. I cride in front of him then. I did not know how important it was to me till then. How important it is for me to find him and return this book wich has been such a faithful companion to me._
> 
> _It is terible that I wil die befor I can say thank you to him. I am stupid for thinking it but I wondr what would have hapend if I had runaway with him then. I think about it a lot now. It would not have been the same as being married to Mr. Brutwell or takeing care of father. He could be so loving and he knew so much. Will I never have the chance to see him again?_

Caliban read the sentences several times through. She knew she was dying and out of all the people in the world she’d wanted to see, he was one of them. How had he not gone looking for her? Why did he not? He then thought of Solange in Paris. They still had a chance to save her. But no, Solange was different. She was stronger in every sense of the word. But something nagged at him.

“You must tell Ms. Ives to send a letter to Solange to tell her her friends will assist her whenever she requires it.”

“I’m sure she knows that” Victor replied quietly.

“It does not matter if she knows that or not, Victor. She needs to be reminded in case. You will have Ms. Ives tell Solange.” John looked at him daringly and the doctor consented.

John looked at his master, searching his exhausted face. Something was preying upon the young man’s mind, which he wished to voice. 

“What is it you are thinking?”

The doctor would not look at him and he turned from his creation. Caliban knew his father was wiping away a tear. The man poured himself a glass of water and finished it quickly. 

“I was thinking of the last few days before Rose died.”


	19. June 14th, 1902

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of jumping around with time frames and relaying information, so if you are someone who is not fond of this, feel free to skip forward to the chapter dated June 13th, 1902.

How strange it felt being entangled with someone who had the same strength and force to match his own. His dreams of having an immortal mate had never had this tenor, but John Clare had to admit that his visions had been rather narrow. 

He had dreamed of a soft, beautiful young woman, who -as Lily had mocked - cared for him when the world was cruel. His imagination had not extended her any sort of physical stamina or power like his. Yet here was Solange meeting him in stamina and vigor. John was reminded of Jacob’s wrestling with the angel. The physicality of their exchange was as erotic as it was a test of endurance. 

Did she love him? At the moment, that seemed immaterial. Did his creator ever envision this? Two of his creations being engaged in a battle of wills as much as a battle of passions? Caliban doubted it. This was unique he suspected. He caught glimpses of Solange’s vulnerability when she allowed him to get over her, but he equally showed signs of his own when she got on top of him. One of them had to briefly relent for the passions to continue.

She did not shy away from his scars. Indeed Solange seemed to be drawn to them, at times paying them special attention. Whether it was driven by kindness or curiosity, John could not say, but either way the act intensified his passions.

Solange was the first woman he had allowed himself to undress in front of. Gone were the compunctions and worries about his beastly form. For she was not a mortal who would recoil back in horror at the scars that ran around and down his chest and stomach. She understood their purpose. 

The ferocity and intensity could not last forever, though both creatures were of strong natures. As the sun just began its ascent, the two immortals found their minds, more than their bodies, wearying under the concentration they had each put forth for the past several hours. They held onto each others’ slightly weakened forms tightly and their eyes held each others until they both finished in a heap, resting their heads on each others shoulders. Solange’s breathing continued coming in pants even after Caliban regained his. 

Out of the corner of his eye, John examined her. He felt a sudden rush of love and care for her. He wanted to begin nuzzling against her soft skin, kissing her mouth, caressing her body. He resisted however. He felt that this kind of affection may not have been well received. Running his hands through her hair was the closest John came to showing Solange how affectionate he felt towards her at the moment. 

With the clarity that came after love making, Caliban began to recall how they had come together like this. This union between himself and another immortal, he had considered out of his reach. He’d have to perhaps spend a lifetime settling for paying for this kind of attention. His lot was not a happy one. How could he expect love or passion? But the events of the last few hours perhaps nullified this.

The catalyst to all this was Lily. Yes, the other creation of the doctor, their sister. The one that Caliban should have destroyed rather than Proteus. He of course knew he would see her again. The world was a small place for immortals, but he had not expected what had occurred only the night prior. No one could have expected it.  
Ms. Ives had requested Victor and himself to join in her apartments in London. How she found Caliban, he had no idea. But Ms. Ives had a vast wealth of knowledge so he should not have been surprised when he received her missile. It was quite insistent and Caliban knew better than to simply dismiss the request. If Ms. Ives was summoning him, he must go. 

So he had arrived at her London quarters not at all surprised to meet Victor at the front door, though the doctor was astonished at his first born’s attendance. Ms. Ives was per usual cordial, but mysterious. She asked them to sit and Caliban began wondering why they were here at all. Small talk commenced and John could see the uncertainty in the doctor’s face.

 

“I have something very exciting to tell you” she began, almost as if a young girl. “Solange is returning to London next week.”

Victor’s face became a mixture of emotions. “Thank you, Ms. Ives. Does she want to see us?” Victor asked, putting too much effort on sounding detached.

“Why, Victor, of course! Both of you!”

“Well then we’ll have to arrange a time. Thank you, Ms. Ives”

Ms. Ives narrowed her eyes at him. “Doctor, you can put your pretenses away. I of all people know what she means to you. You cannot tell me that this piece of news brings both elation and fear into your heart.”

Victor turned his face away having been found out. 

“She would like to see both of you” Ms. Ives stated looking at Caliban. “I know that she parted from you in a less than ideal way, but I presumed you could find the will to forgive her.”


	20. June 14th, 1902, part ii

Solange eventually lifted her head from his shoulder and lay on her side, facing the wall. Her eyes did not meet his. Neither did any sounds of pleasure or discomfort or regret escape her mouth. With the euphoria of love making gone, Caliban considered what his bedmate’s reasons for coming to him had been. Love? No, it surely wasn’t that. Attraction? That sort of naivety had long since disappeared. 

Remembrance? Had Solange recounted her time with him? Perhaps. Curiosity? Maybe. For why shouldn’t she be curious to see what another of her own kind was like? Caliban certainly had been. He had been so enchanted with the quandary, that he had had his creator make another like him. Did she not have her own needs to sate? 

Most emphatically, however, his soul cried “Loneliness!” The fact had not escaped Caliban’s notice that his successors, as they were, had a greater facility for friendship than he. His lack of tutor in conjuncture with his appearance assured that, while he had endeavored to improve upon his conversation, he would forever remain isolated from the world he had so long yearned to belong to. Lily and Solange, on the otherhand, being creatures emanating beauty and mystery, found ways to immerse themselves in it. Both blessed with the gifts of undeniable allure and charm, they made their separate ways in society. Did he envy them? Of course. How could he not? 

The female creations of the doctor had taken, as was evidenced last evening, such divergent paths. While many factors of the two women’s lives connected them, there was one he felt sure was shared between them: the recognition and, subsequently, fear of eternal isolation. Yes, Caliban thought, if anyone ever dared to say such a thing to Lily, she would laugh. Laugh cruelly. She would say that was a pathetic concern for mortals. Yet, she had continued on with Mr. Grey. Monetarily and socially the mysteriously immortal man assisted Lily. But there was more, Caliban felt. In the eight or so years that Lily had consorted with Mr. Grey, a connection had to be formed. And what were all contacts and communications between humans if not a way to curtail the barren landscape of friendlessness. 

And here Solange lay, in his bed. Two immortals sating their human hungers. Lily had her own immortal. Should not these other two immortals take some form of pleasure and comfort in each other’s passionate embraces?

The sting that the harsh fact produced was minor. In his more youthful, juvenile days, perhaps he would have been insulted. He would’ve believed it disingenuous. He may have tried to injure her for such a slight. His soul would have mourned for its miserable plight. Caliban had matured, though his soul remained shattered and mind troubled. He thought, “Do we not take the happiness we can?” These were wise words. 

These thoughts turned about his mind as he gazed at Solange lying in his room, undressed. Minutes had passed, yet she had not bothered to cover herself. She did not fret about the servants or Victor discovering them. Neither of the bedfellows had bothered to pull up the turned down sheets and her naked form was still open to his eyes. She was not huddled into a ball or attempting to hide herself. Only her upper arm draped across her waist barely hiding her breasts. 

As if sensing his indecision, she reached her hand backwards and enveloped it in her hand. Except for her wandering hand, which was now guiding him to lie down beside her, she remained as still as before. His hand was joined with hers and lay across her bare stomach. He felt her light breathing. His eyes began to close.  
Suddenly there was a knock upon the door. Caliban immediately tensed and felt the need to cover himself. The knock came again. Solange’s body tightened this time and she lifted her head to the door in apprehension until the footsteps could be heard leaving. She then returned to her former position seeming somewhat unnerved. Caliban attempted to lay down with her once again, but found his unguarded nakedness unbearable. He pulled up the unused covers and rejoined her. 

Soon her breathing slowed down once again and he matched his to it. Caliban knew instinctually this was the breathing pattern she used to rest. It was nearly the same he used to escape from the outside world. 

It was not long before the two creatures were in meditative sleep. They stirred when rain could be heard against the window. The sunlight that had graced the morning had gone and been replaced by heavy rainclouds. 

He felt Solange move from him. Caliban watched as she went to the window and pulled open the drapes. He felt a twinge of worry pass through him that she would now dress. But she did not. Solange climbed back into bed silently, resuming the position they had lain in for hours. 

Did Caliban make comparisons between the woman now lying beside him and the girl he had loved many years ago? Yes. He knew that if this were Rose lying next to him, his appetite for conveying his love would be insatiable. John with absolute certainty knew he would be nuzzling and grabbing her. He would have such urgent desires to not only gratify his own hungers, but set aflame hers. 

“I would be undeniable greedy. I would be as a young man besot with his girl would be.” John said to himself. 

In more pitiable, lonely times in his life, John would allow himself to imagine what it would have been like if Rose had accompanied him. In his soul, he knew that the arrangement he had so wished for would never have resulted in either’s happiness. Caliban no longer pretended he could have the same happiness normal men had or that his anger, especially then, was without consequences. 

However, he could still dream. He imagined showing Rose the theatre. He imagined how she would be so entranced and mystified by the happenings onstage, as well as behind and underneath it. Of course, their life would not be without difficulty. They would not be wealthy. He envisioned Rose waiting eagerly for him to come home from the theatre in their small, one room abode. She would be unsettled and isolated by London and it’s hustle and bustle and cruel ways. Her unhappiness, though, would only make him strive more to work harder and acquire lodgings away from the stench and clamor of the city. A bittersweet life, to be sure. 

All of these things and more had been dreamt of before Caliban had read Rose’s diary. After that, John could only envision the difficulties of their marriage. The fantasies he had constructed were swept away. He only had the harsh realities to gaze upon. The incident with Maud replayed again and again in his mind, but this time it was Rose who he held against the wall in a fit of blind rage. Perhaps one day she would warm to his touch and become trusting of a man’s desires, but “I may have killed her by then” he whispered to himself. It would have been a simple thing to snap her neck when she refused him or lied there passively or cowered as his anger grew. Their marriage would have been a dismal and precarious one, Caliban now saw.

But lying next to him was not Rose. Yes, it was Rose’s body and some of Rose’s qualities and characteristics, but it was not her. The man within him had wanted to own Rose. Not ownership in an intentionally insidious manner, but possession nonetheless. Solange was not to be controlled like that.

He thought of the photos and paintings he had seen of her. So sensual and provocative, yet somehow not lurid. The painting was undeniably beautiful. It was modern and at the same time recalled “A Midsummer’s Night Dream.” She appeared like a fairy or sprite.

The first time he had seen a reproduction of a painting of her, anger boiled within him. He was enchanted by the image initially, but this gave way to his jealousy and compulsion to protect her. He wondered if she knew what she was doing or if she was being taken advantage of. The image gave him every reason to believe the painter must also have seduced her.

But John had seen the woman in the picture as Rose, not Solange. Upon remembering this, his anger was lessened, though he still worried. He had thought himself strong and able and yet had been captured by the the Putneys. Might the same have been true for her?

The fear of this had compelled him to seek her out. He went to Paris and then Prague to find her. He kept his distance and watched over several days, long enough to assure him she was not a captive. 

Solange smiled openly and broadly as he had rarely seen Rose do. She appeared to be happy amongst these odd bunch of mortals. He felt that she did sense someone watching. She sometimes turned around ponderously to search out the person, but Caliban’s skills of evasion outmatched hers. With her safety assured, he left, but kept a watchful eye out over the next two years for reproductions.

John’s revery was broken as Solange began to speak.

“I’ve never felt that way with anyone” she said contemplatively. 

Caliban knew what she meant. Neither had he. He kissed her shoulder for the statement also seemed wrought with sorrow.

She turned onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. “Have I made a mistake, John? Betraying one of our own?” Her voice was filled with worry and uncertainty. The tenderness and love he felt for Solange at the moment was almost unbearable. 

“No” he replied firmly, but kindly before pecking her on the lips. Her eyes met his for a few moments until she turned on her side to face his body. She brought her fingers to trace the scar that ran around his neck. She did so delicately and lightly kissed each x. It was not sensual rather, caring and curious. He brought one hand and traced the extremely faint, almost nonexistent scar that ran across her decolette. John brought his mouth to meet hers. They kissed for a moment but neither was ready to renew their passions. Solange brought her hand downwards and traced the scar that ran vertically on his stomach. 

Victor had constructed her and Lily so much better. He had learned much since making his first born and had done his best to not scar them. Solange’s skin was not deathly white. She appeared healthy rather than sickly. Her body was not as Caliban’s was: a fright. Caliban saw how those artists must have gazed at her beautiful form, little guessing to how it was born.

“How did we know each other when I was Rose?” Caliban’s breathing was arrested. He looked at the woman lying next to him. How did she know? That she knew her name from her past life came as no surprise. Victor had probably told her that or she had remembered it early on. But when had she realized she had known Caliban in her mortal life?

Caliban’s words were stuck in his throat and he couldn’t speak.

“Or am I misremembering?” she asked with true concern.Caliban sat up against the headboard and stared in front of him. 

“No, Solange, you are not in error. We did know each other for a time when you were-“ he had to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. “In your former life.”


	21. June 14th, 1902, part iii

In Solange’s over two year absence, Victor had much to think about. Since that horrible morning when he awoke to find her room empty of not only her, but some of books and clothes, he’d promised he’d made several promises to himself. 

Firstly, he vowed to never make another immortal. He did not regret making Solange herself. The guilt that the act of toying with the extension of life, however, did.   
Even with the sorrows that he had endured at the hands of his first-born, Victor did not regret making John himself. The horrible truth of the matter was John was sometimes his conscience. What a terrible twist of fate. Having a monster, a murderer, be your moral compass.   
But in light of what he had now learned about Lily’s actions and motivations, the young doctor was forced to admit to the full repercussions of his actions. He had in part created this mess. Victor knew he was responsible for John’s ceaselessly relentless life, as well as Dr. Van Helsing’s death. Yes, it was a blessing that Proteus had not survived. 

A year after Solange had left, Ms. Ives had had cause to call upon the scientist. She informed him of the dubious and harmful actions of Mr. Dorian Grey and Lily. An immortal army set upon subjecting the mortal race was their goal. Yes, curiously, Mr. Grey himself was immortal, but the cause was unknown. Ms. Ives and Sir Malcolm had discovered that the alluring man was ageless years prior. The scars and wounds Grey’s flesh suffered seemed to vanish quickly. It was a curious thing.   
Moreover, it had appeared the two beautiful creatures were moving together in a bid against the human race. The full meaning and plan that they had remained unknown to Victor, but whatever it was, it did not bode well. 

Somehow the creator of these immortal creatures had separated the worlds that Lily and Solange lived in. Victor had never conceived of the women meeting. They were of such different characters and constitutions that the idea that they should meet by accident (and needless to say by intent) was inconceivable to him. But Lily had sought Solange out. A sister. Another immortal. Someone, who like her could understand the frailty of humans and use it against the race.  
Dorian had come upon Solange first. Ms. Ives admonished herself for not predicting that this would happen. For even without the demi monde, was it not plausible to see how a man so entranced with paintings and aesthetics would not somehow have cause to meet an artist’s subject? 

After meeting Solange several times, Grey knew there was something other worldly about her. The beautiful man discovered Solange was friends with Ms. Ives and relayed this information to his new lover. Lily spied on the curiously strange young woman. The connection was felt immediately by Lily. And she was the one who told Dorian what to search for on their prey’s body. Though they may be faint as hers were, Lily knew that this other would have scars. With ease, Dorian charmed his way into the studio of the aspiring artist, Pedro. With scanning eyes, he searched Solange as she sat nude while the camera snapped away. He saw the tiny, almost invisible scar between her breasts. Dorian intimately knew what it would look like, after all he and Lily were lovers. And then with watchful eyes, Lily and Dorian waited for an opportune moment. 

“How could I have been so blind?” Victor asked himself. “How did I not foretell the two women meeting?” 

Of course, the grieved man did not think he could have predicted what happened the night before or in the hours after. 

Yes, John and Solange were finally joined together. 

“Was that not what I intended all those years ago?”

Hours after the clock had struck midnight, Victor quietly to Solange’s room to check on her. He found she was not there. Out of instinct, he checked the window, but it was locked.

“Will Solange always lock her windows and doors now? Perhaps she is downstairs in the study or kitchen’s. She will not wander outside.”

Victor’s exhaustion, worry, and preoccupation about what he should do and say had made him deaf to the noises in the house. As he began descending the stairs though, he heard a noise that arrested him. It was the creaking of something. His head turned toward the sound and he waited to hear the sound again. It did not take long before the creaking continued. Lost in apprehension, Victor quietly climbed the stairs again and stopped a few paces before John’s door where the creaking was clearly coming from. Now Victor’s ear were greeted with another sound: heavy breathing. Unconsciously, he stepped forward to hear better. Suddenly he stopped.   
From beyond the door, a soft moaning came. It was a woman’s moan. Victor was glued to the spot as he listened. The moans were soft and now that Victor was more intently listening, he heard kissing. And then, to Victor’s horror and heartache, a man’s moan. More low grunts accompanied it and Victor soon felt tears coming to his eyes.

Victor turned and managed to walk a few paces before he quietly returned. This time though he ventured all the way to the door. He knelt on the floor and looked through the keyhole. 

“What did I expect to see through such an opening?” Nothing but the light from the fireplace could be seen.


End file.
